House of Burden
by Maygin
Summary: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.
1. Chapter 1

**House of Burden**

**By Maygin**

**Summary: **Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

This is written for ObuletShadowStalker for a great prompt she suggested for the SFTCOL(AR)S Round 2 Challenge. It's an AU story where the fire never happened and only Sam grows to realize there's a darker side to the world around them and to him. Hope you like it girl! I really kind of thought this would be a short story but one page turned into ten and then ten into twenty and so on… thank you for stealing numerous hours from my days and giving me an excuse to ignore my roommate ;) I hope it's not too long winded, I think I just got kind of caught up in the whole 'family life' for the Winchesters.

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"_Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking __alone__ in the light._" --Helen Keller 

**Chapter 1**

Dean shoved his car in park and shut if off, pocketing the keys as he climbed out. He walked across the neatly manicured grass, past the well kept rose bushes and up the green cement steps. He raised a fisted hand to the door with a pink and green 'welcome' sign hanging on it but pulled back suddenly remembering where exactly he was. He dug back into his pocket muttering to himself as he sifted through his keys until he found the right one, shoving it into the lock and letting himself in. He kicked the door closed behind him and made his way through the familiar hallway toward the kitchen.

"Hey mom," Dean greeted, leaning over to give his mother a kiss on the cheek as he opened the refrigerator at the same time.

"Hey sweetie." Mary smiled warmly with surprise, letting the fork she was using to push the cooking bacon around rest against the side of the pan. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I'm not allowed to come visit my mother?" Dean asked with wide eyes as he pulled the milk carton out.

Mary gave her son a chastising look. "You know what I mean."

Dean smiled and snagged a glass from a cupboard, pouring the milk in. "Dad has some parts he left in the garage he needs. Do I smell waffles?" He asked innocently, peeking around his mother.

Mary grinned knowingly. "I made extra."

"Home sweet home." Dean's grin mirrored his mother's. He turned to lean back against the counter, milk in hand. "So what's the occasion?"

"What, I'm not allowed to cook for my family?" she asked with a sly look, turning her attention back to the bacon.

"Dad's already at work and you didn't know I was coming over so…"

Mary smiled warmly knowing she was caught as she turned the sizzling bacon over. "It's for your brother."

"Oh yeah? What, did I forget his birthday again?"

Mary paused to send her eldest a '_that's not funny_' glare.

"I'm kidding," Dean defended as if it should be obvious.

"Well you shouldn't. It wasn't funny then and it isn't now."

"Come on," Dean implored light-heartedly, "it was _one_ time."

"Dean, you would have no clue if I didn't tell you or call you every year." She chastised lightly. It was early and she really didn't like starting out the day getting into spats with her children.

Dean seemed to mull that over for a second before conceding with a tilt of his head. "True… but give me a break mom; it's not like we don't get along or anything… we just don't have anything in common." He sat down at the kitchen table with his milk, an empty place setting resting before him.

"I'm not expecting you to be best friends," Mary picked up the pan and carried it to the table, picking a few pieces of crispy bacon out to drop onto her son's plate, "but I do expect you to act like brothers. And brothers remember each other's birthdays."

"Alright, alright," Dean held his hands up in surrender. "I'll have it tattooed onto my hand."

"You'd better not." Mary pointed the fork at him. Dean chuckled. "Do me a favor though, go upstairs and make sure your brother's up. Let him know breakfast is ready."

"He_ still_ sleepin in?" Dean asked incredulously with a small shake of his head as Mary went back to the oven to pull out the warmed waffles. "He's like a freakin vampire," Dean muttered as he rose from the table and headed toward the hallway.

"Dean," Mary's voice stopped him. She pushed back a few stray blond hairs, looking suddenly tired and drawn. "I'm worried about him," she admitted.

Dean hesitated in the kitchen entryway; it was awkward for him to see this kind of concern so openly admitted to him from his mother. He was used to seeing it directed toward him, not his brother. Sure, the kid had some seriously weird quirks and habits, but he was the good kid; the one that got good grades, followed the rules and always said please and thank you at the dinner table. Dean was the delinquent of the family; the one that barely made it through high school, nixed the college idea, took up a job at his father's shop, and frequented the local bars as often as possible.

He shifted slightly under her concerned stare and gave a small shrug. "He'll be fine Mom. He's just goin through a stage."

Mary nodded though obviously not at all convinced. Dean hesitated another second before realizing he had nothing else to offer and made his way toward the stairs.

**

* * *

**"Saa-am," Dean peeked around the door and then sighed loudly before letting himself into his kid brother's room. "Dude… the laziest ass I've ever seen," he muttered as he walked up to the bed. Sam was blissfully unaware of his visitor, curled up on his side. "Sam!" Dean yelled. 

Sam jerked awake falling clear off the other side of the bed in a tangle of sheets and limbs, a loud thump sounding against the floor. Dean busted out laughing. When Sam finally de-tangled himself and was able to look over the mattress and see the deliverer of his rude awakening, his expression immediately turned sour.

"What the hell dude?!" he threw his sheets on his bed and walked around it toward his nightstand, picking up his alarm clock to check the time.

"Breakfast is ready." Dean chuckled and turned back toward the door.

"I'm not hungry."

"Well too bad. Mom made it for _you_ so eat it and be grateful."

"I'm gonna be late for school," Sam argued as he pulled a t-shirt from a drawer and yanked it over his head, immediately searching for his jeans.

"Well then maybe you shouldn't have slept in."

"Dean-" Sam huffed, history book in hand, "What the hell are you even doing here?"

"Why, you miss me?"

"Yeah, I totally miss having the crap scared outta me every morning." Sam said flatly, stuffing the book into his backpack.

"Mom's worried."

That caused Sam to pause in his hurried packing and look at his brother seriously. "What?"

"She's worried… about you," he said with a clear hint of accusation that Sam was the cause of their mother's stress.

"Why?" Sam asked somewhat guardedly; he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a serious conversation with his brother.

"Well, here's a thought – why don't you ask her."

Sam seemed stuck in his thoughts another moment before he resumed his search for his jeans. Dean's brow quirked when his brother turned, a huge black and blue bruise revealing itself on the back of his thigh.

"What happened to your leg?" he asked dully, standing in the doorway.

Sam immediately turned around, as if just remembering it was there. "Uh- nothing… got kicked at soccer practice." Sam shifted awkwardly, watching his brother's reaction.

Dean pulled a face and shook his head, turning and leaving the room. His brother was such a freak sometimes.

**SN **

"Mr. Winchester."

Sam jerked around at the door, bumping into a few other students as he tried to maneuver his way back into the classroom. "Yes sir?"

Mr. Jenkins hardly lifted his eyes from the papers on his desk as he pointed across the room with his red pen. "Your bag," he announced dully, scribbling a comment on a student's paper.

Sam looked to the middle of the classroom and realized he'd left his book bag lying under his chair. He kicked himself mentally; he was just so freaking tired he kept forgetting stupid, little things like this. He gave an embarrassed grin and then retrieved his bag, threading an arm through one of the straps. "Thanks," he said sheepishly, ducking his head to exit the classroom again.

"Mr. Winchester?" the teacher's voice dully called once more, gaze still fixed on the paper beneath him.

"Yes sir?" Sam asked, hiding his annoyance and sneaking a glance at the clock hanging above his Civic teacher's head.

"This is the third assignment you've turned in late."

"I know," Sam shifted awkwardly in the doorway, "I'm sorry."

"This is becoming a habit," Mr. Jenkins made another notation on the papers below him.

"I know. I'm sorry, I- …it won't happen again."

"I sent a letter home to your parents."

"You- …what?"

"I sent a letter to your parents informing them of your declining interest in your school work."

Sam felt his stomach flip, imaginative curses pouring through his head. He really didn't know how to respond. "Okay," he hedged.

Mr. Jenkins suddenly dropped his pen with a sigh and looked up at his tall student. He rested his chin on an open hand. "Sam you are a 4.0 student with a history of praise and recognition in your transcripts. You were a model student before you stepped through my doors and I have to say, I'm a little disappointed."

Sam swallowed and found his shoes intensely interesting while he felt a burning sensation weasel its way into his stomach. He hated getting into trouble; in fact he avoided it at all costs and was successful most of the time. Coming from a teacher though… this was new for him.

"I'd like to blame it on the normal wiles of high school teenage-ism however I don't think that's the case here." Sam could feel his teachers stare burning into him as he skillfully avoided it. "Other teachers have informed me you've been falling asleep in their classes, you've dropped out of speech and debate, you've quit the soccer team and yet you've been spending an unusual amount of time in the library for someone whose lost interest in their classes." Mr. Jenkins listed off his findings on his investigation. He watched the younger man shift awkwardly in the doorway for another moment before continuing. "If there's something going on at home, there are people here you can speak to-"

"No." Sam's head shot up. That was the last thing he wanted; people thinking he was being abused or having problems at home. His mom would be devastated and dad would totally freak. "There's-… there's nothing- I… my home life is great."

"Then what is it Mr. Winchester?" The teacher asked with a small sigh, clasping his hands together on the desk top.

"Nothing, I just…" Sam searched the classroom walls for some kind of answer. "I'm just trying to figure things out is all. It won't happen again, I promise."

Mr. Jenkins pursed his lips together with another sigh, clearly unpleased with his results. "That assignment is due next Monday. Don't miss it or your parents will be receiving a phone call from me next time."

"Yes sir," Sam nodded enthusiastically. "I won't." He turned and quickly retreated from the classroom and an uncomfortable experience he never wanted to revisit ever again.

He barely cleared the school's front entrance doors when a loud honking noise filtered into his hearing. He looked up to see a sleek, black car resting noisily at the curb, his brother looking quite impatient within. Sam made his way toward the car as another bout of honking filled the air. He glanced around the parking lot at a few groupings of students talking and joking around who stared at the spectacle that was him and his brother. He ducked his head and reached the car, quickly throwing himself inside and shooting a scowl at his older brother.

"Do you have to be such an ass?"

"Do you have to be late to every damn thing? What took you so long?"

"I was talking to a teacher."

"Like talking… or _talking_?" Dean waggled his eyebrows.

"You are such a prick." Sam settled himself into his seat.

"Yeah well pay attention; you could learn a few things."

"Where's Dad?"

"The bumper he ordered on that Jaguar got shipped to a shop in Kansas City, so he had to drive there to pick it up."

"Why didn't he just have them ship it to him?

"Because he's supposed to get the car back to them tomorrow genius."

"Well how was I supposed to know?"

"You're supposed to be the smart one of the family," Dean said disinterestedly as he pulled to a stop at a red light. "By the way, you're Mom's date for that dinner theater thing she's got goin on tonight."

"What- no, I can't."

"Why not?" Dean glanced across the seat briefly before accelerating through the green light.

"I just… I've got stuff to do." Sam stuttered.

"Like what?" Dean asked sardonically. "Memorize the encyclopedia?"

"No," Sam glared defensively. "I've got research on a project I need to do."

"Oh yeah? Anything to do with ancient mythological creatures?"

Sam froze in his seat. _Don't turn and look, don't turn and look – don't take the bait_. He could feel his brother's gaze and knew he was waiting for some kind of reaction.

"What are you talking about?" he squeezed out of his suddenly dry throat.

Dean smirked. "Relax dude, I saw the books you've got stuffed under your bed. But I'd move 'em before Mom finds them."

"Oh," Sam responded intelligently.

"So what's the deal? You joining a cult on us or something?"

"What do you care?" This was definitely not something he'd planned on discussing with his brother like- oh, ever.

"Because Mom and Dad would freak if they found out. That and it's not exactly your style," Dean added on somewhat hesitantly; as if showing any inkling of interest in his sibling's well being would ruin his reputation.

"Look, all I'm saying is if you wanna get involved in all that Goth crap that's fine, just-… don't drag Mom and Dad down with you alright? They don't deserve that kind of stress."

"I'm not apart of a cult." Sam ground out with annoyance.

"Well then what the hell's the matter with you? Who reads about demonic creatures and shit for enjoyment?"

"It's not for enjo- look it's none of your business okay?"

"Like hell it isn't; mom's already upset over that letter she got from your teacher." Dean griped.

Sam literally felt the blood drain from his face. "She got that?"

"Of course she got it ya moron. What, do you think the post office is gonna cease all incoming mail that has anything to do with you?"

Sam kept his mouth closed and slumped in his seat, keeping his gaze firmly out his side window. Dean divided his attention between his younger sibling and the subdivision roads. He was definitely a little irked, and admittedly a little uneasy with this new side of Sam.

"Look," he started a little softer, "Mom doesn't know I told you and she didn't look too thrilled at the idea of bringing it up with you so just keep quite about it okay?"

Sam gave a small nod of ascent, still staring forlornly out his window. "Why can't you or Dad go with her?" he asked quietly.

"Because as soon as Dad gets back we'll be working on getting that car ready for tomorrow. It'll probably take us half the night."

Sam sighed dejectedly, rubbing at his eyes. "Fine," he mumbled softly.

"What?"

"I said fine," he said a bit louder and laced with annoyance.

"Good." Dean said. Conversation closed. He pressed down on the gas and sped toward his childhood home.

**TBC… **

[So what are the thoughts so far? Does this sound even remotely interesting?


	2. Chapter 2

**House of Burden**

**By Maygin**

**Summary**: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one. This is written for ObuletShadowStalker for a great prompt she suggested for the SFTCOL(AR)S Round 2 Challenge – thanks girl!

Thank you to AnickaMarie for braving me as my Beta, she keeps me in line!

"_Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking __alone__ in the light._" --Helen Keller

**Chapter 2**

"Thanks for coming with me," Mary smiled warmly, reaching across the small round table to grasp her son's hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.

Sam responded with a smile and a small nod. He'd gotten lucky thus far, his mother hadn't brought up the _letter_ at all yet. He was beginning to think he just might make it through the evening without incident. It helped that the dinner theater was fairly distracting. The tables around them were filled and the actors on stage were doing an impressive job of incorporating the audience and engaging their attention. Sam probably would've enjoyed it more if he wasn't busy worrying about his after dinner plans.

"Sam," Mary hedged, keeping her eyes on the cloth flower arrangement sitting on their table. "Are you doing okay honey?" she looked up to gauge her son's reaction.

Sam floundered helplessly in his head; did everyone have it in for him today? "Yeah, I'm good." He put on his best innocent expression.

"You sure?" Mary knew something was wrong, she just couldn't pin it down. But her baby was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning, that much she could see clearly despite his best efforts. "You just… you've been so quiet and reclusive lately. It's not like you."

"I know… I'm sorry." Sam briefly wondered if saying something too many times would cause the words to lose their effect. He shook his head and shrugged in defeat. "I'm just… trying to work through some things. It's not a big deal."

Mary watched her youngest with concerned eyes, thrilled to be getting some kind of response and yet sad to have her fears that something _really was_ going on confirmed. "Anything your dad or I can help you with?"

"No," Sam blurted out before he could stop himself. "No," he said a bit softer with a small huff of a laugh at his outburst. "It's not a big deal… _really_."

Mary studied him another minute before conceding with a small smile, knowing full well if it continued or progressed she'd have to forgo the embarrassment issue and put her foot down. She'd read one too many news reports of parents who were shocked beyond belief when their child was somehow killed or took their own life and all because they were afraid to step in and address an _uncomfortable_ issue or situation. Not with her babies, no way. She'd been worried about Dean and all his crazy antics that he still adheres to when he was growing up, but she'd stayed active in his life and was always honest and open with him and he'd turned out alright.

She made a promise to keep a more trained eye on her youngest. She refused to become one of_ those_ parents. If she had to she'd pull out the big guns and bring John down on him. But that was her last resort; she loved her husband dearly and he loved his children the same; but Sam had always been a sensitive child and her husband was a bit rough sometimes in dealing with him.

She turned her gaze back to the stage, but her attention stayed with her son.

**

* * *

**Sam waited for the rest of the paper to print before typing back a quick _thank you_ to the man hidden behind a random screen name. He'd sent an email to him a few weeks back after he'd started researching some odd occurrences on the other side of town. The man apparently had an entire wealth of knowledge at his fingertips and was able to get exactly what he'd been looking for. 

Sam pulled the sheet of paper from the printer and read it through. He was a little nervous; usually he was the one doing the research and updating his contacts with new information; helping _them_ out and leading them to hot spots and prey.

This was the first time he'd found an occurrence in his own town other than his initial baptism into the world he now resided in. That's not to say he hadn't snuck out for weekends at a time to meet up with others like him and help them out. But out of town soccer games and speech and debate tournaments could only get him so far. Sometimes he found himself stressed to a frayed thread trying to get back in time to avoid suspicion from his family. Not to mention the fact that Mom and even Dad were always wanting to tag along to see him at the supposed 'games' and 'tournaments'. At least he'd had the brains to actually join the soccer and speech and debate team. Now though he was having troubles keeping up with them, his classes, homework, family and this… his true calling in life.

He was a hunter. Albeit a bit reluctantly, but a hunter all the same. Because God knows he didn't choose this life – it had chosen him.

He couldn't remember when the nightmares had started, but he remembered the fear. The cold sweats and panic he'd wake up with, screaming until either one or both parents came rushing in to hold and soothe him. Hell, even Dean had gotten in on some of the '_calming Sammy'_ techniques.

He'd learned to hide it well though after years of counseling. Sam understood why his parents did it; they loved him and he'd been scaring the crap out of them with his confessions of dreams where peoples heads were being ripped off or chests clawed into. At first they'd blamed Dean, thinking he was showing his little brother horror movies when they weren't looking. But after a few weeks of counseling for the older Winchester boy himself, the psychiatrist deemed he was telling the truth and suggested more sessions be held with Sam because clearly the problem originated from him.

So Sam had learned to be quiet and discreet about his nightmares. But that didn't mean he forgot about them. In fact he kept a journal with all the ones he could remember. And anything new made it in there as well. It had been his eye opener to a hidden world around them; a dark world filled with blood and danger and death and evil. But it was also a world filled with good and heroism and sacrifice.

In his research he'd quickly found contacts and befriended others like him. Well, not exactly like him – they didn't have the nightmares he had or the visions.

And wasn't that the most disconcerting development of the whole charade? He used to get them in his sleep, waking up with a slight headache and some horrifically detailed memories of the supposed nightmare. But then sometime last year he had one in the middle of gym class and ended up passing out and being sent home with a diagnosis of a heat migraine and doctors orders to drink a lot of liquids.

He shook his head with a huff; he wished it _had_ been a heat migraine. Because having visions of people dying wasn't exactly something he'd signed up for in his lifetime. He was fortunate though; he'd gotten in contact with some good, knowledgeable people who were sympathetic to his plight and offered him their help more times than not.

And now he just had to be careful about covering up when he got one. He'd been lucky not to have one in front of his family yet. He could only imagine the drama that would cause. He couldn't exactly control his actions when they happened and he wasn't even sure what his actions were; but anyone standing near him at the time they happen always seem pretty freaked out. And God knows they hurt like hell.

He folded the piece of paper and slipped it into his back pocket. He stood and leaned down to pick up his backpack filled with the needed items for tonight's hunt. He slung it over his back and pulled his cell phone from his nightstand, slipping it into his back pocket as well. He tip-toed to his bedroom door and rested his ear against it. He could barely hear the TV on down the hall in his parents' room. Dad was still at the shop working on the car and Mom would do her best to wait up for him. But it was late and his mother had seemed pretty tired when they'd gotten back from the dinner theater. He was pretty damned sure he was clear for his escape.

He silently clicked the lock shut on his door and then slid his window open. He'd been lucky his room faced the back yard and had a large tree next to his window. He skillfully climbed out onto the closest thick branch with familiarity and then shimmied his way down until his feet hit the ground.

He waited for a minute to make sure he'd escaped without incident before standing to his full height and shifting his bag on his shoulder with a small grin.

He was going hunting.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**House of Burden**

**By Maygin**

**Summary: **Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

Thank you so much for the reviews guys!! I recognize a lot of your names so it's really awesome to know I've got some friends who've read some of my other stuff and still come back for more ;) I think someone mentioned that they weren't too sure about the relationship between Dean and Sam, and I totally understand that – however because they grew up without the need to be dependent on each other for everything, they obviously won't be as close as they are in canon. But I assure you, it will change as the story progresses because come on, seriously? That's my favorite thing about the boys too :)

This is written for ObuletShadowStalker for a prompt she suggested for the SFTCOL(AR)S Round 2 Challenge. Thanks to AnickaMarie for keeping me within the realm of proper grammer ;)

"_Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking __alone__ in the light.__" --__Helen Keller quotes_

**Chapter 3**

Five hours. Five hours and twelve minutes later he was shuffling across his backyard again. Dryad done and dealt with. The children of Lawrence, Kansas could happily frolic amongst the trees of Melber Park once more. He shifted his bag on his shoulder, grabbed the thick branch above him and lifted a leg to swing himself up.

"Having fun?"

Sam's fingers slipped and he stumbled into the tree's trunk, wide eyes searching the dark back yard for the person who'd caught him. "Dean?"

Dean sat leaned back in a lawn chair carefully balanced on two legs, his head resting against the house's paneling along the outer wall. Sam immediately noticed the completely smug look on his brother's face.

He let out a relieved breath, sending suggestions to his heart to calm the hell down and with a defeated gait, slowly walked toward Dean.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I'm not the one climbing up a tree at four in the morning." Dean responded casually.

Sam held his hands out in annoyance. "Don't you have an apartment you're supposed to be living in?"

"Why go there when there's so much entertainment to be had here?"

Sam let out a weary sigh, he really was exhausted – Dryad's weren't exactly pixies. He let his backpack drop to the ground and adopted a subdued posture. "What do you want?"

Dean watched him a moment more. "What makes you think I want anything?"

"What, you're just out here to prove a point? To get me in trouble is that it?"

Dean's eyes narrowed and he slowly lowered his chair back to the ground. "And here I thought we had nothing in common."

Sam shifted to his other hip and stared at the wall behind his older brother. "What's that?"

Dean gestured up and Sam found himself lifting his gaze to his open window, curtains blowing in the slight breeze of the early, early morning. "I used to climb out the tree in the front."

Sam looked at his brother a moment before a small grin worked into one corner of his lips and he huffed. "That tree is hardly climbable."

Dean nodded with a grin of his own. "Just goes to show how completely desperate I was."

Sam's grin faded, a familiar hollow feeling digging into his chest. "If you were so desperate to get away from here then why do you keep coming back?"

"I wasn't desperate to get away from here Sam. I was desperate to get out into the world, see what it was… what it had to offer." Dean shrugged, his gaze moving across the tall white fence that lined their back yard. "What I had to offer _it_."

Sam was entranced. He'd never heard anything so sincere and naked come out of his brother before; at least never directed toward him… not for a long time anyways. He couldn't drag his eyes away at Dean's far away look, his brother's eyes finally finding his. Then Dean smiled suddenly.

"I'm just messin with ya. I was totally out getting drunk and having sex."

It took a moment for Sam's brain to catch up with him. And when it did, he felt like a complete idiot for ever having thought he was having an actual moment with his older brother. Dean's chuckling did nothing to dissuade his anger.

"You are such a jackass!" he hissed, still aware his parents were sleeping peacefully behind the closed window above them to his left. He snatched up his bag and turned back toward the tree.

Dean snorted, "You're still gonna climb back in?"

Sam didn't bother turning around as he shouldered his bag. "I locked my door from the inside."

"Ah," Dean gave a knowing nod, "Still haven't found mom and dad's copies of the room keys huh?"

"What are you even doing here Dean?" Sam asked, his annoyance and embarrassment getting the better of him.

Dean shrugged non-chalantly. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't doin any drugs or anything stupid like that."

"Seriously?"

"Hey, I'm not here to stop you from doing whatever weird shit it is you're involved in… just to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"Thanks," Sam sneered.

"You're welcome." Dean grinned and gave him a little wave. "Have fun climbing."

Sam shook his head and grabbed onto the branch, paused and then turned back toward his brother. "Are you just gonna sit there and watch me climb into my room?"

Dean's bottom lip puckered. "Gotta make sure you don't fall."

Sam huffed and then pulled himself up onto the branch, ignoring the '_helpful tips'_ his brother whispered loudly as he climbed from branch to branch. When he stumbled into his room he had to keep himself from slamming the window down, but he did lock it and pulled the curtains closed. He dumped his bag on the floor and sat on his bed for a moment, trying to calm his nerves and come to grips with the entire day.

He couldn't help himself as he leaned forward and pulled back one corner of the curtain, peeking around it. Dean was gone, along with the lawn chair. And for some reason, he didn't understand why that thought suddenly brought back the hollow feeling. He let the curtain slide shut again and then let his upper body fall backwards onto his bed, closing his eyes.

**TBC…**

(A short chapter but I'm including chapter 4 too and it's a bit longer. Hope it's still everything you want ObuletShadowStalker)


	4. Chapter 4

**House of Burden**

**By Maygin**

**Summary: **Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

Chapter 4 as promised! Three was pretty short so I thought I'd indulge ya'll. This story has become so much larger than it was originally intended to be. In fact it's already the longest story I've ever written and that just kind of blows my mind. I swear more of a plot line grows in coming chapters, I just need to set up the "Family" so to speak. This is written for ObuletShadowStalker for a prompt she suggested for the SFTCOL(AR)S Round 2 Challenge. Thanks to AnickaMarie for keeping me within the realm of proper grammer ;)

"_Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking __alone__ in the light.__" --__Helen Keller quotes_

**Chapter 4**

"Hey bud."

"Hey dad," Sam greeted, looking up from his homework.

John walked past him and set his lunch pail on the counter. "Your mom said you have a tournament this weekend?"

"Yeah, it's down in Wichita."

John nodded without looking as he turned the faucet and started washing the grease from his hands and arms. "How's it looking? You think you guys will make it to finals?"

Sam shrugged, tapping his pencil against his other hand. "I think we got a chance. As long as they don't let Kyle open his mouth."

John chuckled and turned to lean back against the counter as he dried his hands with the dish towel. "You're mom and I were planning on heading over with Travis to his ranch this weekend on the lake. Take a little break-"

"That's fine," Sam piped up; secretly grateful he wasn't going to have to lie this time.

"You sure?" John searched his son's expression. He knew how much time the kid spent researching and practicing for the Speech and Debate team, the last thing he wanted was to make his son feel like they didn't care.

"Yeah, of course." Sam nodded. "I'm sure Dad," he added for extra measure. "Really these are all just preliminary type tournaments anyway. The finals are the ones everyone invites their parents to."

"Alright," John nodded and tossed the towel onto the counter. "Well we're leaving Wednesday night; make it a four day weekend. Dean's gonna watch the shop."

"Good luck with that." Sam smirked.

John mirrored him. "He may be a pistol but he knows what he's doing."

"Meaning you told Aaron to handle the customers and leave Dean to the cars," Sam stated knowingly with a smile.

John chuckled. "He gets that from his mother's side."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well, at least you'll have company."

"Wait- what?"

"Dean's staying here with you until we get back."

Sam lowered his head slightly, staring down his father. "Dad, I'm seventeen." He reminded him.

"I know," John sighed, "but it was your brother's idea."

This surprised Sam even more. "What?"

John shrugged as if he couldn't figure it out either. "Said he wants to spend the weekend with you."

"What?!" Sam tried again.

"Sam," John said flatly. "I know you two haven't exactly gotten along these last few years-"

"Try the last several years," Sam muttered.

"Excuse me?"

Sam slumped in his chair. "Nothing."

John sighed and ran a hand over his head. Dean he understood, he didn't have hidden agendas. He did what he wanted and said exactly what he thought. Sam… his youngest boy was quite the enigma to him. His emotions were erratic at times and he never quite seemed to be telling the truth, but how could you tell when he's looking at you with those eyes that sometimes looked like he was facing the world alone?

Not to mention his weird quirks like his sleeping habits, the nightmares he used to have, his reading habits, his inane ability to over-think any situation, and his unusual love for libraries. There were other things too, like how he locked his door on most nights or how he insisted on doing his own laundry. How some days you couldn't squeeze a single syllable out of him and yet other days you couldn't get him to shut up. He was an enigma that John worried he'd never understand. Mary seemed to have a slightly better connection with the kid at least.

"Wait, the weekend?"

John almost literally shook his head to clear his thoughts. "What?"

"You said Dean's coming over to spend the weekend with me."

"Yeah."

"But Dad I'm gonna be in Witchita."

"Yeah I know. He's going with you."

"He can't come with me."

"Well not with you on the bus. He'll drive his own car."

"No Dad… Dean can not come to the tournament." Sam annunciated clearly and firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because." Sam answered as if that were a perfectly good reason.

"Because why?"

"Because Dean is loud, crude and will make fun of everyone in there."

John gave his son a knowing look. "It'll be fine."

"Dad, please… I'm begging you. He'll hate it anyways – he'll be bored to death."

"Or he might surprise you and enjoy it. You two might actually have a good time."

Sam slumped in his seat even further swallowing down some very colorful phrases he knew wouldn't be appreciated by his present company. This would require some in depth planning. He sighed and stuffed his papers in his book, closing it and rising from the table. "This sucks out loud," he grumbled as he left the kitchen.

John watched him turn the corner to head upstairs before slumping against the counter with a sigh of his own and running a hand over his head. He really had no idea how to communicate with that one. Sammy seemed to have secrets hidden within every orifice.

It had been Mary's idea; to finally take Travis up on his offer and let Dean try to get through to the youngest Winchester member. And wasn't that three kinds of messed up? Dean who used to sneak out of the house to go partying, they were hoping he'd be able to straighten his kid brother out. John snorted and shook his head. It would be a miracle if the boys came back from the weekend unscathed.

"What are you thinking about?" Mary asked as she strolled into the kitchen.

"If we're going to have a house to come back to on Sunday."

Mary snorted, leaning down to check the pasta she had cooking in the oven. "They'll get along fine."

"Mary, they haven't gotten along for a long time."

"Which is exactly why they need this… to reconnect."

"I just don't know if forcing them into this situation together is a good way to do it."

Mary stood up with a smirk on her face. "We're not forcing them. Dean was all for it."

"Which is something else that just completely stumps me."

"What, Dean at a Speech and Debate Tournament?" Mary asked humorously.

"Yeah." John chuckled.

"I almost want to hide behind the bleachers and watch_ that_ instead of going to the lake."

John crooked an eyebrow. "No."

"I'm just kidding." Mary defended.

"No, you're not." John said knowingly as he grabbed his wife around the waist and pulled her in.

"Oh come on," she whined good-naturedly, "we could pack a picnic, watch Dean go stir crazy and watch Sam kick ass all without being seen."

"Now I know where Dean gets it."

Mary grinned leaning into a kiss.

"That's still a no," John murmured as he pulled back from the kiss.

Mary tried not to smile as she pouted.

**

* * *

**

Sam sighed again as he listened to the opening keys of a Motorhead song fill the car for the umpteenth time in a row.

"Do you have to keep doing that?" Dean growled.

"What?" Sam asked curiously, it was the first words that had been spoken since they'd pulled out of their driveway.

"That pansy assed sighing thing you keep doing every five seconds."

Sam begrudgingly pushed himself further into the corner between the passenger seat and door to stare out the window at the passing scenery… silently. It lasted all of five seconds.

"Don't you have any other songs to listen to?"

"Look man, no one asked you to ride with me. You coulda been perfectly happy with all your little emo friends on the bus."

Sam's expression smoothed out, dropping the conversation just like that. Dean noticed however.

"What, not getting along with the rest of the teammates? Little spat amongst the ranks?" Sam wasn't budging though; he just continued to stare out his window ignoring his brother. Dean huffed. "It's a speech and debate team for cryin out loud, aren't you supposed to be able to talk this kinda shit out?"

"I don't have a problem with anyone on the team."

"Then who? The leader? The bus driver?"

"No Dean, I don't have a problem with anyone on the bus!" Sam ground out frustrated. How was it that Dean always managed to grate on his last shredded nerve?

"Then what the hell dude? I _know_ you didn't ride with me for _my_ sake." Dean asked just as frustrated.

When his mom had suggested this he hadn't planned on his brother riding with him for the three hour trip.

"Where is the freakin bus anyways?" Dean glanced in his mirror and along the wide expanse of road ahead of them. Kansas wasn't known for its hills which made spotting other cars a breeze… especially a huge yellow one. "You'd think we'd have passed it by now," he muttered.

Sam swallowed and kept his gaze fixed firmly out his window. The reason they hadn't seen the bus that left a half hour before them was because the bus wasn't headed to Wichita. It was headed to Kansas City. A little known fact he was hoping to keep to himself. His original plan was to hop a public bus to Wichita without his parents being any the wiser. Having Dean in the mix made things a little more difficult. He had no idea how he was going to work this out, but he had something in the works. Something messy and would only work if he caught Dean in a good moment and he didn't let his innocent bluff slip even the tiniest bit.

Who was he kidding. He was totally screwed. And the opening cords of the same Motorhead song filled his ears once more.

**

* * *

**

"Are you sure this is the right hotel?" Dean asked suspiciously, looking around the parking lot for the yellow bus. They'd reached Wichita in good time and Sam had directed him here where the rest of his team was supposedly staying for the weekend.

"Yeah," Sam said with certainty. "They probably haven't gotten here yet."

"We didn't pass 'em on the road dude."

"Well maybe they made a pit stop in a rest area and we passed them." Sam reasoned.

Dean shook his head as he stared out the windshield. Something just wasn't sitting right with him. "Alright well why don't I drop you by here later after they get-"

"No, Dean- it's fine. Mrs. Larkin said I could go ahead and check in if we got here before them."

Dean sighed. "Maybe I'll go ahead and get a room here then."

"No," Sam blurted before he could stop himself.

Dean's head jerked around to stare at his younger sibling. It had been a long, tense drive and frankly he was fed up and beyond annoyed. "Dude, do you seriously hate me that much?"

Sam's expression smoothed out as he floundered for some kind of response. He hadn't expected that in a million years. "No, of course not." He said softly.

"Then what is it? Is it seriously that embarrassing to have your older brother hanging around?"

"No- I just…" Sam shifted uncomfortably. He never imagined Dean had actually _wanted_ to spend time with him; he just figured his parents had bribed him into coming somehow. But all the same, he had to carry through with his plan and the plan didn't work if Dean was nearby. "I thought you wanted to stay somewhere downtown, closer to the bars so you could go out tonight."

"Yeah, but I'm not real thrilled with leaving you here without the rest of your group."

"I'm seventeen dude."

"Yeah and I remember being seventeen so you'll have to excuse me if I remain a little suspicious." Dean argued.

"Dean," Sam broke off his original thought. Staying annoyed was going to get him nowhere with his brother. "I don't hate you okay? I just…" his brain went into overdrive and stopped on the first thing that sounded reasonable. "Mrs. Larkin never forgave you for the water balloon incident and she still watches me like she keeps expecting me to turn into you or something." He watched a grin fight to break out on Dean's frown. "It took me this long just to get her to call me by my first name instead of Mr. Winchester." He paused again and let a grin of his own show through. "I'm afraid if she sees you she'll go back to hating me."

Dean chuckled, lost in the memories of his own high school experience. "Ahh Mrs. Larkin," he said dreamily with a shake of his head.

"Please Dean," Sam begged softly with a warm smile. "Don't make the rest of my high school year miserable."

It only took one glance at his kid brother's puppy eyed plea for him to cave. He sighed with an audible growl and turned the car off. He didn't even say anything knowing Sam knew he'd won. "Damned debate club," he mumbled as he climbed out of the car and headed toward the trunk, hearing his brother follow suit.

He keyed the lock and lifted the trunk lid. He snatched up his brother's duffle bag and pulled it out, stumbling slightly under its weight. "For God's sake dude! What do you have in there?"

Sam quickly relieved his brother of the duffle, shouldering it like it was no big deal. "Just- you know, books and stuff."

"Sounded like metal clankin' together," Dean made a casual grab for the zipper to see.

Sam neatly side-stepped him, backing towards the hotel's lobby entrance. "Yeah it's uh- some props Mrs. Larkin asked me to bring."

"What the hell kinda props do you need for a Speech and Debate?"

"You'll see tomorrow," Sam smiled slyly, waggling his brow. "You remember where you're going tomorrow?" And this was where Sam's great ploy would come into play.

"Yeah uh…" Dean hedged as he shut the trunk and made his way toward his door. "St. Mary's something?"

"Yeah. Eight o'clock… sharp." Sam confirmed.

"Got it," Dean gave him a thumbs up before dropping into his car. He watched his brother until he disappeared into the hotel lobby and then started the car, and headed off downtown to find a cheap motel near a bar.

* * *

Sam watched his brother's car turn onto the main road toward downtown and disappear from his view. He let the corner of the curtain fall back into place, silently thanking it for its hiding capabilities. He glanced around the hotel lobby once, sending a small apologetic smile to the receptionist before ducking out the front doors and pulling out his cell phone.

"Bobby? It's me, I'm here." Sam's gaze floated across the parking lot as he listened. "Okay, I'll be waiting in front of the lobby… bye." Sam closed the phone and plopped down on the nearest bench beside the front entrance doors outside. He released a long sigh. "This is gonna be a long weekend."

**TBC…**

(So… thoughts anyone?)


	5. Chapter 5

**House of Burden**

**By Maygin**

**Summary**: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**Blah-Blah Section: **Holy Wow guys! Thank you so much for all your thoughts and reviews! It is such a relief to know people are enjoying this :) Thank you again to my Beta AnickaMarie whose been kickin butt despite real life business. This may seem like a short chapter but the next chapter more than makes up for it ;)

**Chapter 5**

"You bring yer gear?"

"Yup." Sam pointed a thumb behind him where his duffle laid in the truck bed.

"Good boy." Bobby Singer threw his truck into the next gear as they headed east of downtown toward the suburbs. He glanced at the boy seated next to him.

"So how'd you get down here?"

Sam hesitated a second. "Does it matter?" he asked lightly.

Bobby sighed. "You're gonna have to tell 'em sooner or later son."

"Why?"

"Because this isn't the kind of life you want to live alone."

"You do."

"Sam, you're seventeen, I'm in my forties."

"Bobby, I can't tell them." Sam implored.

"Why not?"

"Because they wouldn't understand. They'd have me locked up or something." Sam loved his family to death, he did… but if there was one thing years of counseling had taught him, it was that a doctor's opinion apparently held more weight than a ten year-old's.

"You don't know that they would-"

"And you don't know that they wouldn't," Sam reasoned.

Bobby sighed again. "I'm just sayin', this aint the kind of life a seventeen year old should be stressing over let alone stressing over it alone. It ain't easy bein' a hunter."

Sam snorted, turning to look out his passenger window. "Believe me, I know."

Bobby eyed the boy closely, taking in the new stress lines on his young face. "How are those visions? You still gettin' 'em?"

It was Sam's turn to sigh. His eyes watched the passing scenery without really seeing it. "Yeah."

"Have they gotten any easier?"

"No," Sam answered quietly.

Bobby turned back to the road with a grimace. He'd been doing a lot of research into the kid's plight, but not with much luck. Sam's reoccurring dreams about a yellow-eyed demon just wasn't mentioned in any books he knew of. He'd gone to some of his own contacts but had to be discreet about it. There were too many hunters out there who were gung ho and stupid. The last thing he wanted to do was put Sam's psychic scent out there to the wrong hunter.

He'd been training the kid when he could, but still, if a veteran hunter came after him he'd be dead meat. He'd warned Sam about revealing his gifts to other hunters and contacts and he knew the kid took the warning to heart. He could see the fear of the unknown in the boy's eyes at unguarded moments; the vulnerability.

He could only imagine what kind of stress the kid was under. Hell, he was worried about the implications of Sam's gifts himself. It wasn't right for him to have to bear this type of burden by himself… he was just a kid. A very tall kid with a hell of a lot of potential… but a kid all the same.

"So what'd you find out?" he asked changing the subject.

Sam was grateful for the change and flipped open a manila folder lying on his lap. "Well apparently a woman, Elizabeth Conner, died on the bridge by hanging herself after coming home the day before to find someone had murdered her husband and baby. She couldn't handle it so she hung herself and now, a hundred and fifty years later, there have been sightings of apparitions on the bridge as well as eight drownings there in the last year and a half."

"Say anything about her body?"

"Nope." Sam flipped a page over revealing an old picture of a petite woman holding her baby close to her breast, flanked by her husband. "Locals say it is a place of great sadness," Sam finished softly.

Bobby tried to ignore the forlorn tone in the youngster's voice. "Alright, so no body to burn. And no real reason for her to be haunting the bridge itself other than it being the place she killed herself."

"Right."

"Any suggestions?" Bobby asked, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Sam mulled it over for a moment, knowing full well he was being tested. "Cleansing ritual?" He asked self-consciously.

Bobby grinned proudly. "Sounds like a plan then."

Sam smirked and sat back in his seat watching the scenery pass with a new determination.

**

* * *

**Dean ran a tired hand over his face as he threw the car into park. He took a huge gulp of his hot coffee remembering the good times had by him and Tess- Tina… Tammy? He chuckled to himself. Whoever it was, they'd had a blast and put a few dents in the wall of her apartment. He tipped the Styrofoam cup back and drained the rest of his essential morning routine before noticing something odd. 

He frowned at the empty parking lot surrounding him, empty but for his car. He checked his watch again and tapped at it for good measure. He was on time, in fact he was about fifteen minutes late so where the hell was everyone else? Dean leaned forward and spotted the big letters 'St. Mary's High School West' scripted in the stone above the front entrance.

He shut the car off and got out, making his way toward the doors. He gave a good tug – locked. And then tried the other – also locked.

"What the hell?"

He made an entire circle around the school, trying his hand at every door but kept coming up with nothing. By the time he was back to his car he was good and pissed. He yanked out his phone from his back pocket and hit the speed button for his brother. He had to rely on a deep seeded self-restraint to keep himself from throwing his phone on the ground when all he got was Sam's voicemail.

Dean leaned back against his car and fisted his phone, running his other hand over his head. Obviously his brother had gotten the school wrong. He briefly wondered if he should try heading back towards the hotel Sam and his team were staying at, but _duh_ – no one would be there cuz they were all at the freakin' tournament at somewhere _not_ St. Mary's.

Dean jerked his hand up in surprise as his phone suddenly sang to life. He glanced briefly at the caller I.D. before flipping it open and growling into it. "Sam what the hell? Where are you at?!"

"St. Mary's." Sam's voice rang through innocently.

"Wrong, try again. I'm standing outside of St. Mary's and there's no one here! It's a freakin' ghost town!" Dean paced.

"Wait, wait, wait…"

Dean heard some scuffling over the phone and then what sounded like Sam's muted voice as if he was holding the phone against his chest.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, Mrs. Larkin said there's two St. Mary's."

"What?!" Dean yelled.

"Apparently there's an east and a west."

"So you're at the east one?"

"Yeah I guess." Sam sounded sheepish and apologetic.

"Un-fucking believable!" Dean yelled, his voice echoing against the school walls.

"I'm sorry Dean. I had no idea."

Dean ran a frustrated hand over his face. It wasn't Sam's fault. He took a deep breath and glanced at his watch again. "Alright," he said a bit calmer, "how do I get to St. Mary's _East_?"

"Dean, I gotta go- we're being called up."

"Wait- Sam, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Look, it's rush hour right now so even if you did try and make it, we'd be done by the time you got here." Sam sounded rushed.

Dean growled again, vocalizing his displeasure at the situation.

"It's no big deal Dean, why don't you just go back to your motel and I'll call you when it's over. You can come pick me up and we'll go home."

Dean grimaced and let out a frustrated sigh. The whole reason he'd come on this trip was to try and relieve a little of the worry their mom was feeling. She'd be expecting a run through of how Sam would apparently 'kick ass' and now he couldn't even make it to the damned thing.

"Dean," Sam stressed, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, alright. Call me as soon as you're done." Dean said defeated and snapped the phone shut leaning back against his car. He watched a few stray cars pass by along the road, shaking his head. "Damnit!"

**

* * *

**For the second time that day Dean found himself pulling into a St. Mary's parking lot. He spotted the lone figure of his brother sitting on the front steps. He pulled up to the curb and shoved it into park, waiting. 

Sam slowly pushed himself up from his seated position, walked toward the car, tossed his duffle into the back seat and then carefully slid into the passenger seat… all without wincing amazingly enough. Apparently the spirit of Elizabeth Conner didn't appreciate cleansing rituals especially ones directed toward her. He'd gotten tossed over the side of the bridge and had a nice little swim while Bobby picked up the book and finished the Latin. Elizabeth Conner dissipated without so much as a scream and Sam dragged himself onto shore answering Bobby's worried calls.

"What's with you Grandma?" Dean smirked. "Tournament get physical?"

"Yeah," Sam chuckled looking at his hands. "No, I slept wrong or something."

"In that fancy hotel?" Dean asked incredulously, "Only you." He shook his head and took another glance around the parking lot. "Where's everyone else?"

"They already left." Sam dismissed.

Dean blinked. "They left you here by yourself?"

Sam sent his brother a funny look. "I'm seventeen dude. Besides, they knew you were coming."

Dean shook his head again. "The educational system will never cease to amaze me."

"Yeah," Sam laughed, "because you were so amazed by it when you were going through it."

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "So we done? We can go home?"

"We can go home," Sam said hiding his relief as he sunk back into the passenger seat, preparing for the long trip. He'd done it. He couldn't believe it… but he'd done it. The spirit was gone, the hunt over and Dean was none the wiser.

And even better, Bobby had gotten a call while driving Sam to the school from an old friend… an old friend who had some information about a certain yellow-eyed demon he wanted to pass along, information that Bobby had promised to call him about as soon as he met up with his friend. So all in all, Sam was having a good day.

"What are you smiling about?" Dean inquired, a small grin forming on his lips.

"Nothing," he smiled openly, not bothering to open his eyes as he sighed contentedly.

"Nothing?" Dean hedged another glance when he still wasn't getting an answer. "Come on dude you look like you swallowed the canary." He waited a moment. "Did you guy's win or what?"

"What?" Sam lifted his head at the odd question and then remembered suddenly. "Oh, uh- yeah… yeah we won."

Dean gave him a funny look before turning back toward the road. "You are one weird kid you know that?"

"Tell me about it," Sam huffed lightly, his thoughts quickly drifting to the truth of Dean's statement. _Weird_ didn't begin to cover it. Sam was tainted… that much he knew. He was tainted by something- no, a demon with yellow eyes. He was certain of it. He'd dreamed of the evil creature one too many nights to believe it hadn't happened at some point in his childhood. No, the yellow-eyed demon was real, had done something to him when he was a baby, changed him somehow and now Bobby was close to handing him some actual evidence. He wasn't insane.

He wasn't.

He glanced to his left. His brother looked for all the world like he was in his element, window down, sunglasses on, wind in his hair and comfortably slouched in the driver's seat of his baby.

Dean wouldn't understand, Sam reminded himself. He wouldn't. He turned back to his window and tried to swallow down the hurt that thought brought with it. The flat landscape passed by Sam's window in a blur.

He wouldn't understand.

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

**House of Burden**

**By:**Maygin

Summary: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

The Blah-Blah Section: Uh-oh, I smell trouble a-brewin. I believe some of you have been waiting for this. Thanks to the awesome comma natzi – Cometet; who really isn't at fault for all my comma needs. You Rawk darling!!

**Chapter 6**

"Mr. Winchester… a moment of your time please?" Mr. Jenkins called out above the shuffling and chatter of the students filing out of class for the day.

Sam felt his stomach clench at being singled out again. He'd turned in all his homework and hadn't fallen asleep in class for a few weeks now; what the hell was he doing wrong? He schooled his features, though, toning down the nervous, frightened look to at least a minimal as he neared the teacher's desk.

"Have a seat," Mr. Jenkins gestured to the chair facing the desk. He sat down in his own chair and leaned back, twisting his pen in his fingers.

Sam sat down and waited for… well, _what_ he didn't know. But he waited for it. And uncomfortably so as Mr. Jenkins took a minute to simply observe, staring at him.

_Probably waiting for me to break down and confess to something like Dad used to do, _Sam thought to himself. Only this time, he couldn't imagine what it was he was supposed to confess to.

"You know, Parent / Teacher conferences are tonight," Mr. Jenkins stated more than questioned, his eyes never leaving his student.

"Yes, sir," Sam tried to keep the wariness out of his voice.

"Are your parents coming?"

Sam's eyes bounced across the teacher's desk a moment; he hadn't really asked them, but… "I think so."

Mr. Jenkins nodded, his unnerving gaze still glued to Sam.

Sam nervously shifted in his chair. "Have I… done something?" He hedged.

Mr. Jenkins released a long sigh through his nose as he leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk, narrowing his eyes. "No," he said simply.

"Oh… sooo…"

Mr. Jenkins drew in a deep breath. "Sam, when students suddenly start displaying a lack of interest in school it's for one of three reasons." The man held up a hand with the last three fingers held up. "The student is having problems adjusting - which I _know_ is not the issue as this is your fourth year at this school." He dropped a finger. "The student is having problems with other students – which neither I nor any other teacher have observed." Another finger dropped. "Or lastly, the student is having problems at home."

"There's nothing wrong with my home life," Sam defended immediately.

"So you say."

"I don't understand;" Sam began, a little put out, "I've been turning in all my homework since we last talked, and I haven't been missing any classes or falling asleep."

"Yes, since we last talked, there has been a notable improvement. However, I've had yet to have a student bounce back so suddenly from the type of behavior you were displaying."

"Meaning what?" Sam was thoroughly confused by now, and to be honest, a little annoyed.

"Meaning, you are either phenomenally resilient and self motivated, or…"

"-or?" Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"-or you're working very hard to hide something."

Sam froze up. He literally froze; ice crystals formed in his blood, slowing its flow in his veins. He knew what it meant now to be frozen in your seat. And Mr. Jenkins… he was just sitting there staring at him like Sam had an LED board across his forehead scrolling his thoughts in bright red letters across it for all the world to see. He wanted to sink into the floor, melt into the cracks and seep through to the basement… anything to get away from this teacher that observed too much… cared too much.

Sam swallowed, just barely restraining a gulping sound from escaping. He dropped his eyes to the teacher's desk and pressed his lips together, his thoughts a frantic storm beneath his barely clinging, calm façade. He briefly wondered how much time had passed since his teacher had opened his biography and read a page out of it.

He forced out a huffed smirk, desperately squelching down his nervousness. "Seriously?" Sam let his smirk evolve into an innocent smile as he looked his teacher square in the eye. "Mr. Jenkins, I'm just your average teenager with a little bit of senioritis going on." Sam shrugged as if to state, _what can I say_? "I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise. I really didn't mean to cause you any trouble, I just-" Sam broke off, expertly, letting his eyes drop as if casually searching for an explanation. "I don't know… I just got lazy is all." - _no big deal, see_?

Mr. Jenkins' expression didn't change and his stare didn't waver. Sam lips drew up and in, a look of apology and innocence. Finally, Mr. Jenkins sighed and broke eye contact. His gaze dropped to his desk a moment before he leaned back in his chair once more – a look of clear disappointment on his face. And something else… Sam would swear his Civics teacher looked somber.

Sam had no idea at what point he'd somehow deemed himself something to be looked after in Mr. Jenkins eyes, but he had. Sam _had_ in fact worked very hard to get back into his usual pace, _specifically_ to avoid a situation like this happening.

"I don't want to keep you any longer," Mr. Jenkins' voice was flat but tinged with an underlying sadness. "Don't forget about the quiz on Wednesday."

"Yes, sir," Sam responded dutifully, snatched up his bag, and had to literally restrain himself from running out the door. But nothing stopped him from running once he hit the hallways.

**

* * *

**

"Hey, mom," Sam called cheerfully as he closed the front door behind him.

"Hey, sweetie," Mary smiled and pulled her baby in for a kiss on the cheek as he strolled into the kitchen.

"Hey, sport."

Sam turned, surprised to see his father at the kitchen table. "Hey Dad. What are you doing home so early?"

John dropped the newspaper he'd been reading onto the table and rubbed at his eyes. "Oh, yer mother signed us up for some kind of Community Service Banquet downtown," he grumbled lightly.

"Hey," Mary pointed a sauce-covered wooden spoon at her husband, "I _asked_ you three weeks ago if you wanted to do this. You had plenty of time to back out of it."

Sam chuckled, a broad smile on his face. He liked this turn of events very much. "Sooo…" He dropped his book bag onto a kitchen chair and adorned a look of casual innocence. "Does that mean you won't make parent/teacher conferences tonight?"

Mary turned to him suddenly with wide, guilty eyes, red sauce dripping from the wooden spoon onto the clean linoleum floor. "Oh no… those are tonight?"

Sam shrugged. "It's not that big a deal-"

"I can't believe I forgot!" Mary sounded devastated.

"Mom, seriously… it's not a big deal."

Mary dropped the wooden spoon into the sauce pan on the burner and growled at herself. John and Sam exchanged a look of uncertainty. Finally, Mary turned around, facing them.

"Maybe we should cancel on the banquet."

"What? Are you kidding me? No," Sam sputtered out. He looked her in the eye. "Mom, do not cancel your reservations."

"But this is important, Sammy. Someone should be there."

"I'll go."

Three heads whipped around in unison to the new voice in the kitchen entryway. Strolling across the kitchen, Dean hopped up onto the counter as if he owned the place.

"I thought you were going to a movie with Monica or Mia – whatever her name is," Mary reasoned.

Dean waved the thought away. "Nah, she ended up going out with her girl friends."

"Guys," Sam called out loudly, trying to gain control. "It's really not a big deal. Hardly anyone goes to these things anymore."

"They wouldn't have it if it wasn't a big deal," Mary retorted. She deflated suddenly with a pout as she looked at her youngest son. "Besides, I wanted to meet your teachers," she lamented, resting a hand on Sam's cheek.

"Mary, Dean already said he'd go," John reminded her.

"Yes, but I wanted to listen to them dote on Sam for hours on end."

"_Dean_ can listen to them dote on Sam for hours on end."

"I'm rethinking this," Dean chimed in suddenly.

"We're not backing out of this banquet," John firmly stated.

"Are you sure, Dean?" Mary turned to her eldest son.

"Not anymore," he stated incredulously.

"Do I get a say in this?" Sam raised his hand.

"Sam – shut up. Dean – you're going. Mary – you've got fifteen minutes until we need to leave." John listed off in his commanding yet fatherly voice.

Mary glanced at her watch with a small gasp at the time, reached forward and brought Sam's face down for a kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

"Don't worry about it," Sam smiled.

Mary turned to her first born and reached out to plant a kiss on his cheek as well but stopped short when Dean held his watch up in front of her face with a humorous smile.

"Clock's ticking," he announced, dodging her attempts.

Mary playfully smacked his leg and scurried out of the kitchen, headed upstairs to change.

"What a pistol," Dean drawled.

"Hate to break it to ya, but you inherited half her genes." John smirked as he stood and made his way to the oven, picking up the pot of boiling sauce and moving it to the counter.

"John," Mary called from upstairs, "can you take the sauce pan off of the burner for me?"

John's eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Already did," he called back.

"I love you," Mary's smiling, mischievous voice carried down.

"I love you, too," John responded dutifully.

"Do you guys have to do that in front of us? Sammy's still so young."

John sent his eldest a mock glare. "Dean, shut up."

* * *

"You really didn't have to do this, Dean." Sam looked at his brother over his plate of spaghetti.

"Yeah, well, unfortunately I already opened my big mouth."

"Why is that, anyway?"

Dean rolled his eyes and lifted his hands. "Honestly? I thought you guys were talking about another tournament."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Speech and Debate?"

"Yeah." Dean picked up his fork and twirled it in the sauce-covered noodles.

"I didn't think you'd wanna go again after the last one."

"Well, technically I didn't even see the last one, so…"

"Look man, I appreciate the offer, but you don't have to go-"

"Meh!" Dean waved a hand, cutting his brother off. "I already told Mom and Dad I'd go."

"How are they gonna know?"

Dean's eyes locked onto his brother from beneath his bowed head. Sam hated that look. It was a look that clearly spoke '_Bad Sammy'_.

"I'm not skippin out on this, dude, so forget it." Dean stated, leaving no room for argument.

Sam mirrored his brother, twirling his fork in his noodles, though looking a bit more forlorn in his actions. Why was it, whenever Dean got involved, things got sticky?

"What time does it start?"

Sam sighed. "Six-thirty."

Dean lifted his arm to glance at his watch. "Alright," he grimaced, "we better get going, then."

Sam's head rose, looking wide-eyed at his brother. "I'm not going," he announced as if it was obvious.

Dean met his brother's expression. "Like hell, you aren't."

"Dean," Sam explained, "it's parent – teacher conferences. Not parent – teacher – student conferences."

"Screw that, I'm not goin' by myself dude. This is _your_ stupid thing, you're goin'."

"What am I supposed to do while you're talking to my teachers?"

"Bring the paper. You like to read."

"Dean-"

"Don't start with me, dude, or so help me I'll call Mom."

"What are you, five?"

Dean slurped a long piece of spaghetti into his mouth and then smiled smugly at his brother with sauce covered lips.

"That's disgusting."

"You love it."

Sam slowly rose from the table, carrying his plate to the sink. Why did he feel like he was being herded toward the gallows?

**

* * *

**

"And that is why we firmly believe that our current teachers and staff are the best in the nation. We care about your kids, and it shows in their grades. But more importantly, you all care about your kids, and that shows in who they are. In order to prepare your children for the future, we here at Roosevelt High, believe it is essential that communication between you, the parents, and us, the staff and teachers, be open and on the same page at all times. It is in that partnership that the children will grow. Thank you."

Dean groaned loudly as the auditorium suddenly erupted with the clapping and scuffling of chairs as the parents started filing out, heading toward designated classrooms. Dean ran a hand over his face and pushed himself up from his completely bored and slumped position. He smirked at a particularly good looking mother before spotting a figure from his nightmares and ducking behind a rather large man, following him out.

Sam pressed down on the paper in his lap, running a finger over a particular story. His lips moved in synch with the words his eyes trailed across. He paused for a moment, his eyes re-reading a few of the more disturbing facts about the peculiar murders. Carefully, he ripped the article out of the newspaper, folded it neatly and stuffed it in his back pocket for safe keeping.

He turned the page to look for more when the auditorium doors suddenly opened and lines of parents started filing out, looking down at the schedules in their hands listing which teachers they were to meet and where. Sam tucked his legs into his chest as he sat on the floor to avoid being trampled by someone not looking.

He watched a few of the parents for a moment before losing interest and dropped his head to look for more interesting news stories. His eyes latched onto something peculiar, though, at the last second as he spied a hunched figure, jacket pulled up over their head, marching along side a very large man who seemed oblivious to his unusual shadow. Sam's brow furrowed and then he smirked as he recognized the jacket.

"Dean!" He called out.

Dean's head popped out from behind his jacket with wide eyes before glancing behind him and darting toward his brother. "Dude," he hissed, "why didn't you tell me Fitch the Witch still taught here?!"

Sam smiled openly as Dean crouched next to him, his shoulders still hunched in a vain attempt at hiding himself.

"Fitch the Witch?" Sam stated with a humorous grin.

"Yeah."

"Seriously?"

Dean frowned at his brother for his lack of empathy. "The last time I called her Fitch the Bitch, she was like a mile away, but she's got like this crazy hearing, and I ended up with detention for a week."

"Pathetic," Sam said, as if apologizing for Dean's state of being.

Dean looked at him grimly before smacking his arm and standing. "Come on, let's get this over with," he grumbled, holding out a folder he'd been given when he signed in. Sam took it as he stood and rifled through the papers inside, pulling out a particular one.

"Here's the schedule."

Dean snatched the paper out of Sam's hands and read it over. "Okay… so Matthews first?"

"Yeah, that's my AP Lit teacher."

"Lead the way." Dean waved his brother ahead of him. He glanced down at the schedule in his hands as he walked, frowning slightly. "Dude, did you take anything that's _not_ AP?" Sam looked down at the paper in Dean's hands curiously.

"Gym," Sam smirked

Dean glared at him. "You're such a geek."

**

* * *

**

Dean rolled his eyes as he exited his brother's AP Physics class. How one woman could gush on someone for longer than fifteen minutes was beyond him. He thanked the powers that be that he hadn't had that teacher when he'd gone through high school. He looked one way then the other, spotted his brother leaning against some lockers, staring blank-faced at the opposite wall. Dean huffed; Sam looked about as bored out of his mind as Dean felt.

"Hey," he called.

Sam started and jerked his head toward his brother's voice. "Hey."

"Wake up, we got one left. Let's make this fast."

Sam tensed up slightly. "Actually, Jenkins couldn't make it tonight, soo…"

Dean raised a hopeful brow. "So, we're free?"

Sam snorted, deeply relieved. "Free as you wanna be."

Dean smirked and lightly smacked his brother in the gut as they walked, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. "Hey, you wanna strip down and streak the halls?"

"Um, no." Sam rubbed at his stomach.

"Come on, it's your senior year! You gotta do something insane… leave your mark."

"Oh, God," Sam grimaced, "I don't even wanna know how you left_ your_ mark."

Dean snickered.

"Hey, do you mind if I hit the can real quick?" Sam pointed to the bathroom door coming up on their left.

Dean sighed dramatically but waved him on. Sam disappeared behind the door, and Dean occupied himself by lightly kicking at a trashcan.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean whipped around, surprised to see a familiar face… also from his nightmares. "Mr. Jenkins," he greeted with a false smile.

"Never thought I'd see you prowling these hallways again," Mr. Jenkins said with a smirk as he walked up to the younger man.

"Yeah, well, you and me both."

"I was hoping to see your parents here tonight."

"They kind of had a scheduling conflict," Dean explained as the teacher nodded with narrowed eyes. "So, they sent me." Dean grinned widely and threw his arms out.

Mr. Jenkins chuckled; there were some students you just never forgot… and some students who wouldn't _let_ you forget them. "I imagine you've had a delightful time reacquainting yourself with some of your old teachers?"

Dean snorted, looking down at his feet. "Yeah, I don't think Ms. Schweitzer ever forgave me for swapping out all of her Art Portfolios for Playboy Magazines."

Mr. Jenkins actually laughed. It was the first time he'd ever heard the teacher laugh and wondered if, perhaps, there was more to the man he didn't know or had missed.

"That was you?"

"She could never prove it, but…"

Mr. Jenkins nodded. "Are you headed out then?"

"Yeah." Dean jerked his thumb to the bathroom behind him. "Sam didn't think you'd be here."

"Did he," Mr. Jenkins stated rather than questioned, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Listen, Dean, I had hoped to speak with your parents, but if you're here on Sam's behalf, I wonder if I might steal a moment of your time?"

"Sure," Dean said warily. He turned toward the bathroom and pushed the door open a crack. "Hey, Sam? I'll be right back. Meet me at the car."

"Okay." Sam's voice echoed through the doorway.

Dean nodded to the teacher, followed him down the hallway and into a classroom.

"Have a seat," Mr. Jenkins gestured to a chair in front of his desk as he slid into his own. It didn't escape Dean that the teacher had closed the door behind them before he awkwardly sat down in the chair, feeling like he was in high school all over again… waiting to be punished.

"It wasn't me, I swear," Dean joked, holding his hands up in surrender.

Mr. Jenkins chuckled. "Well, for once, I'm thankful to say, this isn't about you."

"Thank God." Dean dropped his hands with mock relief. "So, what's the deal? Sam still not turning in assignments?"

The teacher's brow quirked. "You saw my letter, I take it?"

Dean shrugged. "I kinda walked in while Mom was reading it."

Mr. Jenkins shifted in his chair. "I suppose I should be grateful she received it at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mr. Jenkins studied the young man sitting before him. "I had a talk with your brother before school let out today. I specifically made it clear I wished to speak with your parents this evening."

"Did you?" Dean asked casually, not giving anything away. He wanted to believe his brother, but this teacher had no reason to lie to him. He felt a slice of betrayal cut into his veins, but he quickly turned it into anger. Because betrayal sounded too final… too devastating. And he simply couldn't correlate such feelings with the geeky kid he'd grown up with. It hurt too much, and Dean didn't like hurting.

"The reason I wished to speak with your parents was to inform them that Sam's performance has improved."

Dean blinked, confused to say the least. "Oh."

"In fact, he's had a complete turnaround and seems to be back where he was when he started the year… in all his classes."

Dean hedged a smirk. "That's good, right?"

Mr. Jenkins sighed. "In most cases, I'd say yes."

"In most cases," Dean repeated flatly.

"Dean, do you know why it is that Sam, a student who has continually been a top notch student throughout his entire schooling, would suddenly have difficulties turning in assignments or staying awake in class?"

"No."

"How about why it is that he's suddenly had a turnaround, completing assignments and doing extra credit homework and projects?"

Dean gave a small shake of his head. He knew the teacher was trying to make a point, but he felt like the man was pointing an accusing finger at him.

Mr. Jenkins watched him a moment, quiet concern in his eyes. "Did you know he quit the soccer team as well as the Speech and Debate team?"

"Wait- what?" Dean sat up a little straighter. "When?"

"Mid Semester."

"That can't be right," Dean shook his head. "I just went with him to a tournament a week ago."

Mr. Jenkins sat back in his chair in thought. "Mrs. Larkin, the head of the team assured me Sam has not been to a single meeting, much less a tournament, since December of last year."

Dean had to work very hard to keep his jaw from dropping. Set up… he'd been fucking set up! And all by an innocent little- well, big seventeen-year-old he'd once thought wouldn't hurt a fly. He felt his face heating up.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Dean ground out between clenched teeth.

"I take it you didn't actually attend the tournament then?"

"I'm gonna kill him." Dean made to rise out of his chair.

"Dean," Mr. Jenkins said firmly, stopping the man with a well practiced, authoritative voice. He made certain the younger man was looking him in the eye before he spoke again. "I understand you're angry. But I firmly believe there is more going on here than your average teenage rebellious lies. Sam is an excellent student and a good kid."

Mr. Jenkins paused a moment to let that sink in. "I'll tell you the same thing I told him. When students of Sam's caliber suddenly start displaying a lack of interest in school, it's typically for one of three reasons." Again, he held up three fingers. "The student is having problems adjusting, which we know isn't the case." He dropped a finger. "The student is having problems with other students, which doesn't seem to be the problem as Sam seems to be well liked. Or lastly, the student is having problems at home."

"There's nothing wrong at home. My parents are good parents," Dean defended quickly.

A small grin lighted one side of the teacher's face. "That's what Sam said."

"Alright, well, if it's not any of those, then what the hell is it?" Dean growled.

Mr. Jenkins folded his hands on the desk top. "Why is it, you think, your brother is suddenly doing so well in class again after I confronted him about it?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, his thoughts spinning, until… "He's hiding something," he quietly stated as if he'd just received the clue that revealed the murder weapon.

Mr. Jenkins smirked and tilted his head, leaning back in his chair. He didn't need to confirm it for the younger man. He'd always thought Dean was a smart kid; he just never applied himself like his brother.

Dean ran a tired hand over his face. It was too much. He'd just spent the last two and a half hours listening to Sam's teachers gush over the kid, and now… now, this teacher that Sam had said wasn't even going to show up tonight, was telling him his brother had played them all for fools. Seriously… where had they gone wrong? And how the hell was he supposed to break this kind of news to his parents?!

He gave a brief, tired nod to his old teacher before standing. "Thanks," he said quietly, a little embarrassed.

The older man watched him for a moment before dropping his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"No, it's…" Dean licked his lips, running a hand over his hair. "Thanks for taking an interest… you're a good teacher," he finished sincerely, and then, without another glance, walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Mr. Jenkins continued to sit in his chair another ten minutes wondering as to the mysteries of children… and why he still wished he had some of his own sometimes.

**TBC…**

(Ooooh, Sammy's been baa-aaad. Next chapter… the confrontation and a widdle supwise :) Reviewreviewreview pweeease!! Don't make me beg- …er, wait… yeah, review please and spread the supernatural love!)


	7. Chapter 7

**House of Burden**

**By:** **Maygin**

**Summary:** Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

The Blah-blah Section: Thanks to Faye who took up the challenge of Beta'ing this for me. As she quickly found out, I'm a stubborn individual when it comes to my writing. She did however break me of a few things – Thanks Faye! ;) Sorry for the wait guys. However, here it is, the confrontation. Keep in mind, this Dean and Sam did not grow up relying on each other like the ones we love and adore. There will be differences in their reactions and such. Kay, I'll be quiet now and let you read :)

**Chapter 7**

Sam half leaned, half sat on the hood of his brother's car. He watched as parents came and went in their nice cars, some smiling, others frowning, and some that looked like they'd just rather be somewhere else. He pulled the small article from his back pocket and unfolded it carefully; holding it as an angle so it caught the parking lot lights.

This wasn't the first mutilated body he'd seen recently in the papers. Although it looked like authorities were finally starting to connect the gruesome murders to the same killer. There were still no connections between the victims; they just seemed to be randomly chosen. Innocents at the wrong place and at the wrong time.

According to the article, police no longer believed the killer to be an animal as one of the victims had been killed in her upstairs bathroom. The victim's house had been completely locked up except for her bedroom window on the second floor. But she wasn't the only victim that night. Apparently the police found her two dogs and a hamster mutilated as well. All victims had what appeared to be large claw marks covering their bodies. Two of the victims were also missing appendages and one victims head had almost been severed completely off.

Sam knew without a doubt the killer wouldn't be found or brought to justice by law enforcement. This case required the skills of a hunter. And Sam had every intention of ridding his home town of this supernatural creature whatever it was. Sam took every case to heart, but it became personal when it happened in his own back yard… more importantly, when it happened anywhere near his family. It was his job to protect them. They didn't know. They were normal. Sam never had that option.

He sighed, fingering the slip of paper, smoothing out the wrinkle lines, lost in thought. He heard a pair of footsteps come up behind him and turned, tucking the paper into his back pocket in time to see his brother walk around the car… and boy, did he look pissed.

Sam's brow furrowed slightly. "You okay?"

Dean didn't answer; he didn't think he could without blowing up so he sufficed his fury by sending a death glare of heated anger toward his brother.

Sam literally backed up a step as Dean walked around him, unlocking the driver's side door. He couldn't remember ever seeing a look like that from his older brother and it made him slightly ill that it was directed toward him. "Dean?" he hedged warily.

Dean paused as he opened his door, sending another furiously calm glare at the younger man, making him squirm. "You and I got a problem," he ground out in a deadly calm voice.

Sam felt his stomach flop and the blood drain from his face. He didn't know how he knew, but he just knew. Dean had talked to Mr. Jenkins. A litany of curses streamed through Sam's brain, on the tip of his tongue as he slowly and carefully opened the passenger side door and slid inside.

He threw a wide-eyed, scared look to his older brother; because God knows – he was scared. He'd never seen this side of Dean before. Sure he'd seen him mad and furious… but this was beyond furious. As if Dean's anger had culminated and crossed a line because it was _Sam_… Sam had lied to him, blatantly betrayed his trust. Sam had made it personal.

Dean didn't say anything much less look at his passenger. He just started the car and tore out of the parking lot, grateful no one had decided to try to step in front of him.

They drove in silence for the eight minutes it took to reach their neighborhood entrance, and then another ten minutes as Dean drove past it and took a side road that lead into some farm land. Sam didn't comment; but he _had_ watched the 'Welcome' sign for their neighborhood flash by with a sense of longing. God, he just wanted this night to be over and done with. Would _nothing _about this way of life ever get easier?

It was pitch black along the road Dean zoomed down, dust and small pebbles kicking up behind them. He skidded to a stop on the nameless dirt road in between two fields of growing crop. They had only the pale moonlight and the Impala's headlights to illuminate the area around them. Sam forced himself not to fidget or squirm as Dean turned the car off, sat for a minute and then exited the car. Sam waited another minute before deciding this was his cue to join his older brother.

Sam shut his door and watched his brother over the hood of the car with a wary look. Dean was running a hand over his mouth and pacing, ignoring his brother for the moment. Finally, Dean came to stop in front of his car, hands on the hood and head tucked down.

He looked up at Sam suddenly and spoke quietly and effectively. "Alright, here's the deal. You get one chance." He raised a finger and stabbed the air with it. "_One chance_ to tell me what the hell it is you're hiding."

Sam blinked and tried to swallow, unsuccessfully. "What?" Sam liked to think he was smarter than one syllable words, but for the life of him, his vocabulary had set sail for brighter shores. Sam was scared and lost. Since when did he and his brother start caring about what the other did? This was new territory for him, familiar as distant, childish feelings; but mostly forgotten out of necessity. This was not the brother Sam had known the past seven years.

Dean pushed off from the car so suddenly, with so much anger and without warning Sam found himself being shoved up against the passenger door none too lightly.

"What the hell is the matter with you?!" Dean yelled in Sam's face. "Is this all just some kind of sick joke? Huh? Is this how geeks get their kicks now-a-days?!"

Sam held up submissive hands as Dean's fists dug into his shirt and chest. Sam had no idea where to start. If Dean had found out about his lies – well, then the shit had most definitely hit the fan because Sam hadn't prepared for this eventuality. He'd thought he actually had it under control.

Little did he know just how meddlesome older brothers could be… not to mention some teachers. He tried to swallow again and felt the beginning thrums of a killer head ache starting to form behind his eyes. This had to be the worst night of his entire life. He hated the look of betrayal he saw being directed at him.

"Sam?!" Dean shoved him against the door again, wanting an answer yesterday.

"I'm sorry," Sam forced out of a too tight throat. The headache had flared to life suddenly and Dean's screaming at him wasn't helping.

"For what, Sam?! What the hell are you sorry for?!" Dean pulled him forward, fully prepared to shove him into the car again when Sam suddenly gasped through clenched teeth, a hand flying to his forehead. Dean was a little thrown to say the least, especially when Sam attempted to cry out and gasp at the same time, his other hand flying up to fist into his hair. Dean didn't want to shut this valve of anger, anger that was currently screaming at him that this was just another ploy from his lying little brother to get out of trouble.

He's faking. He's totally faking. Only he most definitely was not faking because now drops of dark red liquid were dripping from his brother's nose onto his lips and chin, looking black in the dim lighting.

"Sam?" Dean asked warily; the still angry side of his brain trying to convince his logical side that Sam had somehow learned how to create nose bleeds on demand. Fortunately his logical side was so convincing and had his anger quickly turning into concern as his brother cried out again and his knees gave out.

Sam's hands flailed, trying to find purchase as his legs vaguely informed him he they were no longer supporting him. Flashes of white seared his vision, blurring the moonlit dirt road and his brother's jacket together until they bled into an entirely different picture like a strobe light with vertigo. Another searing lance of pain sliced through his head again before suddenly dropping away, like he'd been released. Only now scenes from another time played out disjointedly in his view, every few seconds a dirt road or pieces of leather smearing into the un-welcomed scene.

Fear.

That was the first thing that inundated Sam's being as he watched a white, lacy curtain slipping from old, decrepit fingers; a hunched, dark shadow across the street disappearing behind the veil. Spears of white seared across his vision and next he was seeing an elderly woman with a phone in her hand, trembling and frightened. Sam couldn't hear what she was saying into the phone, but he did hear a low growl followed quickly by a high pitched screeching noise coming from outside the bay window. His point of view switched with dizzying speed to the large window just as shattering glass splintered the air and a huge, dark creature invaded the house. Sam almost couldn't take in the sight of the creature it moved so fast, across the room, claws against wrinkled skin, dragging and cutting and throwing and screaming and then a raised claw… stillness for only a second, revealing a shadowed face with glowing blue eyes, and then the claw fell and blood filled his vision.

**

* * *

**

Dean's hand fisted around the wheel, trying to keep up with the flashing truck ahead of him. He pushed the dial button on his cell and pressed it to his ear, trying to hear over the blaring sirens. A familiar voice in his ear had him gripping the wheel even tighter.

"Mom, it's me. – What? – No, Mom listen to me. Something's wrong with Sammy. – No, I mean like seriously wrong. – I don't know, we were just talking and suddenly it's like he's having a seizure or something. – Yes, I'm serious!" Dean growled, forgetting for a moment it was his mother he was speaking to. "No he's in the ambulance right now. We're headed to the hospital as we speak. - Right in front of me mom! – I don't know. – Uh, I think Barnes Hospital. – Yes, I'm sure. – Okay. I'll see you guys when you get there. – Yeah, I love you too, Mom." Dean snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the seat next to him.

He couldn't believe this. He seriously could not believe this. His family was healthy. Sure, they had a cold here and there, but certainly no seizures or whatever the hell had happened to his brother. He'd thought he was scared when the blood had dripped from his nose, but then Sam had to go and take it that one step further per usual and went comatose on him. At least that's what Dean was calling it. Not unconscious, no – but literally un-freaking-responsive; blank stare, unhearing and unmoving. He had been scared out of his mind.

Dean kept replaying the moment in his head over and over. Dean yelling at Sam. Sam grabbing his head, crying out, falling. Dean struggling to lower him to the ground. Dripping blood. Sam's pupils dilating completely and Sam suddenly blanking out… as if the strain had hit the overkill switch, and he just shut down.

Sam could friggin' flunk out of high school for all he cared… as long as he was alive and fine to do it.

He could kind of see through the small windows of the ambulance in front of him and the paramedic working on his brother didn't seem too concerned so maybe it was all just a fluke. Maybe he'd get to the hospital and Sam would get off the stretcher and get a good laugh at his stupid older brother… Dean would kill him of course, but since they'd already be in a hospital they could just patch him up right then and there and send them on their way.

Dean pulled into the first parking spot he could find closest to the ER and hurried inside, just in time to see Sam pulled into a side room. One of the paramedics spotted him and waved him over as his partner finished giving a report to the RN. Dean watched as monitors were hooked up to his still unconscious brother. A doctor walked in and listened to the Paramedic's report on the patient given for the second time before the doctor started asking questions.

"Do we know what he was doing beforehand?" The doctor shined his pen light in Sam's eyes.

"This is his brother." The paramedic spoke up, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He was with him when it happened."

Dean suddenly found himself the center of everyone's attention; a little unnerving and annoying as his brother was the one laying unconscious on the ER bed.

He cleared his throat none the less and decided what he had to say was obviously important to these people in how they'd treat his brother and _oh my god_ what if he remembered something wrong or didn't remember something at all??

He really wasn't prepared for this kind of responsibility… not with his brother's life on the line.

_Where the hell were his parents_?

"Um, we were just talking…"

"Okay, where at?" the Doctor jumped in.

"Uh- a field, out past Bu-"

"What were you doing?"

"I already told you, we were talking."

The doctor gave him a patient but urgent nod. "Okay, but were you drinking? Were you smoking? Were you tak-"

"No, no!" Dean immediately corrected. "We were just- …we just got done with his parent teacher conferences as school and we went out there so we could talk."

The doctor nodded kindly, but it was clear to Dean he was marking off little checkmarks on a mental think pad of some kind. "And what exactly happened?"

"I don't know he just…" Dean took a deep breath. This was important and he needed to get it right. "He grabbed his head like he was in pain."

"Front, back, temples-" the doctor rested a hand on each area of his head trying to determine where the pain was coming from.

Dean licked his lips, "Uh- the temples and along here." Dean motioned along the side of his head.

A nurse started fiddling with some piece of machinery while another one was draining his brother's blood into tiny vials.

"And then what?"

Dean shook his head as he watched Sam's still form on the bed; pale with splotches of dried blood in streaks and blotches down his lips and chin. "And then he screamed and-" The scene flashed before his eyes again. "I tried to talk to him but… he- he was in a lot of pain. And his nose started bleeding then – not real bad but-" Dean ran a hand over his mouth and glanced at the doctor who was nodding encouragingly at him. Obviously Dean was doing something right. "Then he fell against me and I lowered us down and…" Dean shook his head, lost in thought. "He just went blank."

"What do you mean?"

"Like this." Dean gestured to his brother. "He just shut down suddenly like no one was home anymore only his eyes were open."

"They were?" the doctor asked though he was clearly distracted as he started feeling around the patients head.

"Yeah, it was kinda creepy."

"Is he on any medications?"

Dean ran a hand over his head in frustration. "Oh my god, I have no idea."

"Had he had any episodes like this before?"

"No. We're healthy. We're all- healthy."

"Okay," the doctor said authoritatively, obviously play time was over. "Thank you for your help…"

"Dean," he supplied.

"Dean. Will you be sticking around?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean answered as if it was the stupidest question known to man.

"Great. Well, we're going to see if we can't figure out what's going on with your brother. Have you called your parents?"

"Yeah, they're on their way."

"Good. If you'll just direct them to the Nurses station when they get here, we can get insurance and everything figured out and hopefully by that time we'll have some answers for you."

Dean nodded knowingly. "So you want me out of the room."

The Doctor smirked at him. "I promise we'll take care of him."

Dean nodded and followed the nurse out. He was directed through another door and stepped into the dreaded waiting room. Not that he'd been in one too many times, but still… he'd heard stories. He stared at the other occupants sporadically spaced around the room for a moment before finally deciding to lay claim to a chair in the corner facing the ER doors so he could see his parents when they came in. Dean sank into the hard plastic with the repetitive litany of _I will not freak out, I will not freak _out running through his mind.

Twenty minutes later, Mary came rushing inside and went straight for the nurse's desk.

"Mom," he called, vaulting out of his chair and making his way across the room. Mary jerked to a stop at hearing her son's voice and immediately changed direction when she spotted him.

"Are you alright?" She grabbed his face looking him over for only a second before pulling him into a tight hug.

"Yeah I'm fine, Mom. I told you it was Sam."

"I know, I just-" Mary broke off, running shaking hands over her son's shoulders and arms, squeezing for reassurance. "What happened?"

"I don't know we-"

"Dean?" John called from the ER doors as he hurried through them, spotting his family.

"Hey, Dad."

"You alright?" John looked his son over critically.

"Yeah I'm fine," Dean answered again tiredly.

"Thank God," John reached one hand around his son's neck and pulled him forward planting a fatherly kiss on his head. He pulled back, leaving his hand in place and looked Dean in the eye. "What about your brother?"

"They don't know yet, they're running tests."

"What happened?" Mary repeated with worried eyes, squeezing Dean's arm again.

"Honestly, I have no idea," Dean said plainly looking a little shy of freaked. He briefly wondered how many times he was going to have to rehash this. "We were just talking and he grabbed his head suddenly in pain and then his nose started bleeding,"

Mary's free hand went from her chest to her mouth, shaking fingers trying to hide the emotions that clearly wanted to break free.

"And then he just sort of collapsed."

"Sort of?" John clarified.

Dean shrugged. "He wasn't unconscious, his eyes were open but he was just… I don't know, he was out of it."

Mary leaned into John who wrapped an arm around her. "Oh God," her voice trembled and tears filled her eyes, "John that sounds like brain problems. What if there's something wrong with his brain?"

"Hey." John squeezed her against him consolingly. "Jumping to conclusions like that isn't going to do anybody any good. Just let the doctors do their job."

Mary turned into her husband's chest with tears coursing down her cheeks, but didn't release her son's arm. John sighed worriedly and kissed the top of her head, rubbing her back and staring through the waiting room walls in thought; seemingly jumping to a few conclusions himself.

Dean watched them a bit awkwardly. He loved his family, he really did. He was just never any good dealing with these types of situations. He shuffled his feet a moment before hesitantly speaking up. "The uh, the Doc said you needed to check in at the nurses station. Something about insurance."

John sighed deeply, giving one last pat to his wife's back. "Right," he muttered before leaving Mary and Dean to the waiting room and pulling out his wallet as he headed toward the nurse's desk.

"What took you guys so long?" Dean asked as he settled into his claimed waiting room chair, feeling oddly territorial.

Mary growled out a frustrated sigh as she fell into the seat catty-corner to him. "There was an accident on the highway so we had to take a bunch of back roads which of course were filled with other cars all trying to avoid the highway." Mary shook her head.

"Well, you didn't miss anything."

Mary turned her head toward him, her brows knitted together. "They didn't say anything?"

Dean leaned his head back against the wall and shook it dully. "No."

Mary sighed and slumped a little more in her seat, running her fingers beneath hear eyes to wipe away any remaining tears. "This sucks."

Dean wanted to laugh, he really did… but thoughts of brain tumors and other scary things kept scrolling across his minds eye. Instead he sighed. "Yeah."

God he loved his family sometimes. Despite all the trouble he'd caused them growing up, they were always there for him; always ready to feed him or let him stay over for the night when his apartment got boring… lonely. Always ready with a quick joke or familiar banter. Yeah, they still fought sometimes, but he knew they'd always be there when it counted.

And he'd be there for them.

He only hoped Sam felt the same way for his parent's sake. And if was honest with himself, for his sake too. The last month since his mom had confessed her concern, Dean had been spending more time with his lil bro. And he had to admit, they had a flow. When Sam wasn't busy being his weird, awkward self, they actually had fun bantering back and forth, riling each other up. It was a pleasant surprise that he actually enjoyed being around his brother. And he wondered if he wasn't being a bit of a mother hen getting involved like he was now… how many other kids at that parent teacher conference showed up with their sibling?

And then he remembered what had started out this crappy night to begin with. Sam had lied. Had _been_ lying… to _all _of them. And they weren't just your run of the mill lying out your ass type lies either. No. Sam had planned these, spent hours no doubt figuring out ways to dupe them. The _'why'_, Dean was still trying to figure out.

He briefly considered spilling his conversation with his old teacher to his mom, but one look at her red eyes and worried expression had him shutting down that idea real fast. She didn't need that added burden right now; it could wait.

"Mrs. Winchester?"

Dean's head jerked around to see a familiar face walking toward them. Mary rose with a nod.

"I'm Doctor Joplin." He held his hand out to which Mary quickly shook. "I just spoke with your husband, he's filling out paperwork, but I wanted to see if I could get a better history on your son."

"Of course," Mary obliged. The doctor gestured them to follow him through a door into the ER. Dean realized they were basically heading out of the waiting room, for privacy no doubt.

"How's he doing, Doc?" Dean asked, unable to hold back anymore as they found a quiet corner.

"Actually," the doctor said, crossing his arms over the chart in his hands, "he's doing just fine right now."

Mary's eyes closed a moment in relief. "So what is it?"

"Well, that's what we're still trying to find out. We're running some tests right now but I wanted to see if you knew anything else in your son's history that you could tell me. I spoke with Dean earlier but I know how clueless siblings can be about each other sometimes."

Dean schooled his face, he wasn't going to let show just how much that statement offended him, and yet strangely enough made him feel guilty at the same time. The term _brother's keeper_ echoed in the back of his mind as Dr. Joplin and his mom started going through specifics.

"Okay, so no major surgeries of any kind," Dr. Joplin scribbled on the youngest Winchester's chart.

"No."

"And no previous history of seizures or fainting?"

"No, nothing."

"Any notable illnesses or times when he's had a fever over 100 degrees?"

"Um," Mary's eyes darted around their quiet corner in thought, "he had the chicken pox and the flu a couple times. Plus your usual colds and such, but never anything serious."

"Ever been hospitalized before?"

"No. I mean, we've taken him to the ER a few times for broken bones and things like that, but he never stayed over night."

Joplin nodded absently as he marked off some boxes going through his rudimentary questions. "Does he smoke or drink or use any type of drugs?"

"No," Mary adamantly stated, so certain.

"Has he ever in the past?"

"No."

"Has he had any behavioral issues in the past?"

At this Mary paused, throwing a glance at Dean for a moment before looking down at her hands clasped tightly together. Joplin noticed the pause and glanced up from his chart to study the woman's posture.

Mary gave a small defeated nod, not raising her eyes above the man's chest. She hated answering these types of questions because she didn't understand it herself and as a mother she felt responsible for her son's problems.

"Yes," she answered and then continued, knowing he'd ask for more anyways. "We sent him to counseling when he was eight."

"For what?"

Mary felt Dean shift almost imperceptibly closer to her, shoulders brushing. She was unfathomably grateful for the small show of support from her eldest child. She swallowed. "He was having nightmares and uh… he was scared, a lot."

"Of what?"

"I don't know." Mary shook her head. "I guess what he saw in his nightmares, but he was scared all the time. Sometimes he would just start crying for no reason and-" Mary broke off, feeling the heat of tears burn her eyes and slip down her cheeks. She brushed them away and looked above the doctor's head, trying to be strong. "He would talk about these- horrible things he'd see and… I mean I don't know where he got it from because it's not like he was watching any horror movies or anything he just… anyways, we talked to our doctor and he set us up with a child psychiatrist who worked with him for a couple years."

"I'm assuming he got better."

"Yes." Mary nodded; glad there was a silver lining somewhere in all that darkness.

"And how long ago did he stop going in for sessions?"

"He was ten." Mary licked her lips and then wiped at the tears on her cheeks again.

"Has he shown any type of regression since then?"

"Um," Mary stammered, slightly surprised at the question. She had thought that period in her baby's life was over; that he was cured of whatever had been bothering him; not once had she ever thought it could resurface. She glanced helplessly at Dean for a split second before looking at the doctor once more. "I- no, I don't think so. He hasn't mentioned anything lately."

"Okay," Joplin nodded consolingly; it was never easy talking about behavioral problems with children. "So no unusual behavior as of late?"

Dean watched his mother as she seemed to be going over the past year in her mind. Dean wanted to speak up, to scream _hell yes_ and then start listing all the ways Sam had screwed them over the past few months. But he kept his mouth shut because his mother still had tears slipping down her cheeks and looked like any iota of bad news would break her.

Mary swallowed down the lump in her throat. "He's uh, he's been having a few troubles in some of his classes but nothing really… bad or-" Mary licked her lips trying to find the right words. "Or like before you know?"

"Troubles with classmates or…"

"No, nothing like that. He just missed a few assignments."

"Okay," Joplin nodded gently and scribbled a few final notes on the chart before flipping it closed. "Well, I think that's all I'll need for now. As soon as Sam returns from the CAT-scan we'll get you in to see him. He's been asking for you."

Mary and Dean froze for a moment. Dean blinked and then shook his head slightly.

"Wait, so he's awake?"

"Yes. He actually woke up a minute or so after you left the room. He was disoriented and claimed he had a migraine but was pretty determined he was feeling well enough to leave." Joplin grinned wryly. "Actually he was fairly adamant in trying to convince some of my nurses to sign him out AMA."

Dean snorted, a small grin lighting his face. "I'm surprised it didn't work. Sam can be a real bitch when he wants to be."

"Dean," Mary scolded without any real heat.

"Sorry."

Joplin grinned. "Why don't you two go have a seat in the waiting room and a nurse will come get you when he's ready."

"Thank you." Mary squeezed her hands together in a gesture of gratitude before following Dean back out into the waiting room. Their spot in the corner was still open despite a few newcomers. Dean felt a bit of kinship with the other faces that had been in there when he'd first arrived, giving and receiving a small nod of greeting or gesture of territorial understanding in return. He slumped down into his chair and waved his father over when he walked in holding a folder with some papers in it and looking a little put off.

"Have you heard anything?" John asked as he slumped down in the chair next to his wife.

"Yeah, we just talked to the doctor. He'd okay right now, they're just finishing up some tests and then we can go in to see him."

John nodded. "But no word on what the problem is?"

"No," Dean sighed, resting his head back against the wall once more.

John sighed tiredly and leaded back in his own chair, mirroring his wife and son. "Well this sucks."

Dean and Mary share a brief, mischievous glance.

**TBC…**


	8. Chapter 8

**House of Burden**

**By** Maygin

**Summary**: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section: **Guys, I am SOO sorry for the wait! I could riddle you with excuses (and really good ones too) for a good 10 minutes, but I'll spare you the torture. Here is chapter 8 at last. And in apology for the long wait, I'm posting chapter 9 tomorrow because… I DON'T HAVE TO WORK:) Thank you guys for all the AWESOME reviews! They really give me my kickstart for the days and encourage me to keep at it! So thank you kindly! Oh, and you have a huge thanks to throw out to Bayre for Beta'ing this one for me. Please don't blame her for my POV changes – they're my addiction… aside from long sentences.

**Chapter 8**

Sam's head swam. He couldn't remember a vision having been so unbearable before. It'd hurt like a bitch, and even worse, it'd happened in front of Dean. Now, he was in a hospital, which meant his parents were, no doubt, somewhere in the waiting room with his brother, worrying over him. Sam sighed deeply.

He was in a world of hurt right now. Dean knew he'd lied about… well- _what_, Sam wasn't sure but he assumed the lies about the Speech and Debate and Soccer trips were out of the bag. Dean had been _pissed_. He really wasn't looking forward to seeing his family right now. He distantly remembered asking to see them though after he woke up, but were they really going to hold that against him? He'd just had the migraine from hell.

The only good thing to come out of it all was the drugs the nurse had given him for the head ache. He wondered how difficult it would be to get his hands on some more the next time he got a vision like this. He felt light and disconnected… and sleepy. What he wouldn't give to just sink into a downy bed and fall asleep for a week. And when he'd wake up, no one would remember anything and he could go back to being Sam Winchester; 4.0 top of his class loving son by day and hunter of evil creatures by night.

As he stood now, he was Sam Winchester; lying son about to be grounded for life. He could just imagine the looks on his parent's faces when they walked through the door. It made his stomach turn. He never wanted to hurt them. Everything, all the lies and deceit, it was all to protect them. Protect them from the evils of the world… protect them from him.

He was screwed. He knew it the day he'd had a nightmare about a yellow eyed demon feeding him its blood when he was baby. He knew it hadn't been just a nightmare, because the next day he'd had his first vision. He'd ignored it of course, thought perhaps it'd been just another addition to his psychosis. But then the news reports spoke of a man who'd been found in a park, hanging from a tree… the same man from his vision.

That man's death had taught him a costly lesson; he'd never again take his nightmares or visions for granted. It's why he kept the journal; to document his dreams… hoping to find more clues as to what's happening to him.

But now they knew. They knew he'd been lying to them and he'd no doubt be sent back to counseling. Hell, he'd be lucky if he wasn't locked up or sent off to some _troubled teens_ facility.

Sam rolled his head back and forth on the pillow, watching the lights blur a little into the ceiling tiles.

Even now he couldn't tell his family the truth; they'd have him committed for sure. So that left only more lies. He let his eyes slip shut. God he was tired of this. He loved his family dearly, but sometimes he wondered if he wasn't better off just running away. Spare them the lies and send them post cards once in a while to let them know he was okay.

Because Sam was spent. He couldn't even fathom an excuse to get himself out of this. And frankly, he didn't have time to make excuses. He had an old lady to save from being brutally ripped apart. And he had till Thursday night to do it. So he steeled himself and nodded to the nurse checking his vitals.

"I'd like to see my family now please."

* * *

"Winchester?"

Three heads turned in unison to the voice at the door. A tall, wiry woman nodded at them with a smile.

"Follow me?"

Dean rose to follow his family, but first he made the few steps across the room to drop the car magazine he'd been reading on the lap of an old black man who'd been sitting there since Dean arrived and eyed the young man's reading material longingly. "Page fifty-seven has a sweet article on the new mustang's coming out next year."

The old man gave a small grateful nod as Dean turned to follow his family through the doors before opening to page fifty-seven. A toothless grin lighted his face as he took in the bikini-clad eye candy.

Dean walked up behind his parents as Dr. Joplin met them at emergency room seven, nodding to the nurse who smiled and went off on some other business.

"How's he doing?" John immediately spoke up.

Joplin tilted his head to the side. "Well the tests all came back clear. So we're not sure what triggered it. But he seems to be doing fine right now so we're going to go ahead and release him."

"Is that a good idea?" Mary twisted her fingers together as she stared intently at the doctor. "What if it happens again?"

"As of right now there's nothing more we can do for Sam other than wait for another episode which may or may not ever happen again. We have no way of knowing."

"So what are we supposed to do? Just ignore it ever happened?"

Joplin gave the family what he hoped was his soothing expression. "We'll be sending home with you a list of possible warning signs to watch for. If you notice any of them occurring or if Sam does in fact have another episode, bring him back in. As of right now, we have nothing to compare it to and no evidence to as to what caused it." Joplin watched them another moment before adding, "Unless you can think of something else we don't already know."

Mary and John exchanged a look before shrugging helplessly. Dean however stared hard at the doctor.

Joplin immediately latched onto the pointed look, waiting for some kind of confession, because the look on the eldest child's face spoke of nothing but a need for disclosure. Instead Dean's gaze flickered away, bouncing to his parents before dropping to the floor. Joplin gave a small nod of understanding. "Right… well you're free to see him now if you'd like. A nurse will be in soon with the release papers."

"Thank you Doctor." Mary said sincerely, sending a grateful smile his way followed by John who then ushered her into their youngest son's room.

Dr. Joplin nodded to them as they passed and suddenly Dean found himself alone with the Doctor who was giving him a knowing look. "Is there something else I should know?"

Dean sighed and shook his head in frustration, still not sure if he was making the right call here. "Sam's been having some… troubles lately."

"What kind of troubles?"

Dean shrugged with his entire upper body giving a clear sign to his frustration and awkwardness at speaking to a complete stranger about this. "I don't know – grades and… one of his teachers is worried about him." Dean floundered for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what it was he was trying to communicate. "And he… he's been lying… about – stuff and I just." Dean licked his bottom lip. "It doesn't make any sense."

Joplin nodded, and Dean squirmed slightly under the man's stare. He figured it wouldn't be the first time the doctor had had this type of conversation with parents or guardians of some sort. "You want me to run a blood test? Check for drugs?"

Dean stilled a moment before meeting the Doctor's eyes. "Yes."

Joplin nodded. "Already done," he smiled kindly at Dean's expectant look, "He's clean."

Dean deflated; his head and shoulders drooping, running a hand over his head in relief.

"It's standard procedure for a single seizure incident like this where there's no evidence as to what caused it."

"Thank God," Dean breathed out. One less thing he'd have to worry about. Of course that still meant something was going on with his kid brother that was causing him to act the way he was. Dean drew in a deep breath and bolstered himself; giving one last grateful nod to the Doctor before opening the door to his brother's room and stepping in. And he thought women were complicated.

Dean stepped inside the room, waiting for the door to click softly closed behind him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hung back, watching a very nervous looking Sam sitting on the edge of his bed, legs dangling off the end.

Mary and John hovered over him, smoothing out his hair and massaging his neck and shoulders, asking how he was and informing him how much he'd scared them. Dean watched it all and couldn't help but feel slightly justified in enjoying watching his brother squirm; Sam's eyes darting back and forth between his parents as if waiting for Armageddon to begin.

Finally Dean smirked and stepped further into the room making his presence known. Three sets of eyes turned to him; one set widened, frightened. Dean cringed internally, he didn't want his brother frightened of him, intimidated – yes, but frightened – no. He might've gotten a little carried away out in the field earlier. But Dean quickly dismissed that idea as a sudden urge to beat the living snot outta Sam reignited.

"Are you _sure_ you feel okay sweetie?" Mary ran her hand through her youngest's hair. He had John's color, but her curls along the edges. "We can ask the doctor to let you stay a little longer."

"No," Sam blurted out. "No, I swear Mom, I'm fine."

"Okay," Mary conceded with obvious lingering concern.

Sam's nervous gaze flickered between his family members. "So," he began hesitantly, "You're not… mad at me?"

John's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Why would we be mad at you? This wasn't your fault." Mary assured.

Sam's hazel eyes flickered to Dean; confused, seeing, finding the answer and confused again. Dean hadn't told them. Why hadn't Dean told them? He'd caught Sam red-handed and Dean had been furious. Sam suddenly had the sick feeling that his older brother had been saving it for this moment… saved the shock value for when Sam could see the crushed and hurt looks first appear on their faces.

"I uh…" he glanced at Dean again who seemed to be watching him with interest, "I just – I'm sorry you had to leave the banquet early for nothing."

Dean huffed quietly and shook his head.

Mary gripped her youngest's chin and looked him in the eyes. "Sweetie it's not _nothing_. I don't care if you stubbed your toe; if you're hurting, you call us."

"Do not call me if you stub your toe," John stated flatly, just stopping short of rolling his eyes. Mary backhanded him in the chest without looking.

Sam gave a small laugh, glancing nervously at Dean who hadn't stopped staring at him with a knowingly disappointed twist to his lips. Sam shifted awkwardly. "So uh… can I leave?"

"Nurse is supposed to be bringing us papers to sign and then we'll be outta here," John assured him with a pat on Sam's shoulder.

"What do you remember?"

Sam glanced at his mom a second before locking eyes with Dean. "Dean and I, we were uh- we were talking." Dean broke eye contact with a disappointed shake of his head. It sent a pang of guilt through Sam's chest. He looked down and watched as he threaded his fingers in and around one of the strings hanging from the hospital gown he was currently dawning. "And then I don't know…" He shrugged without looking up. "I just got this horrible head ache." Sam smirked and raised his head sheepishly. "Probably something I ate."

"That usually affects your stomach not your head dumbass."

"Dean," John's voice was firm and sharp. Daddy did not approve.

Dean, for his part had the brains to look slightly chastised. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"What's going on with you two?" The tension between the brother's was obvious.

"Nothing," Dean answered, locking eyes with Sam again who kept his mouth shut and just sat there. "We've just got some issues to work out is all."

"So," Mary cleared her throat, thinking a change in subject would be good right about now, "how did the conferences go?"

Dean snorted, not breaking eye contact with Sam. "They went good. Some of the teachers had a lot to say about the little guy," Dean finished cryptically.

Sam broke the gaze, dropping it back to his fingers.

"I'm sure some of your teachers loved seeing you again," Mary smirked at her first born knowingly.

"Oh yeah; good times."

A loud knock sounded on the door, the tall nurse from before popping her head in. "I've got the papers all ready if you'd like to go ahead and sign them." She held up a clipboard with several papers attached.

"That'd be me," John raised his hand dully and walked toward the door.

Mary's eyes bounced between her boys for a moment before she started after John. "Dean why don't you help your brother get dressed while I help your father, okay?"

True, she'd phrased it like a casual question, but they all knew there wasn't an option in there. The door closed quietly behind them, leaving Dean and Sam in a still room with nothing but the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall.

Sam finally raised hesitant eyes, not quite making it past his brother's shirt. "Why didn't you tell them?" His voice soft and defeated.

"Because I shouldn't have to."

And that was that. Sam nodded slowly, not expecting anymore. Dean wanted to see their parents hurt about as much as Sam did. It wasn't Dean's transgression, it was Sam's. He was leaving it up to Sam to confess. But whether Sam wanted to or not, Dean would make certain it happened.

Sam's gaze slowly floated around the room; his head still a bit fuzzy from the drugs.

"You wanna tell me what really happened tonight?"

Sam stared forlornly at the white wall across from him. "No."

He couldn't do it anymore. He was tired of lying. Flat out tired of making excuses. And honestly, what more could he say than the doctor already confirmed. It was all just a _migraine_ and _I don't know_'s.

Dean gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving his little brother's hunched form. At least he'd gotten an honest answer for once. No excuses or hidden meanings in that one word. Sam wasn't talking. And if Sam wasn't talking to him, then he sure as hell wasn't going to talk to their parents.

A brief moment of nostalgia washed over him as he suddenly remembered a small, ten year old Sammy tucked into the corner of his bed against the wall, looking, for all the world, alone. They had just come back from a long session with the Psychiatrist who in a separate session with a fourteen year old Dean had told him he needed to not get caught up in Sam's delusions. She had told him he needed to nicely reinforce to his younger brother that it wasn't real. He had, and the silent, curled up, and what Dean could only describe as betrayed looking little kid sitting alone on his bed was the result.

It was the same look and posture Sam had now, only aged and matured… world-weary. And he wondered if they hadn't made a mistake all those years ago.

Sam hadn't gotten better… he just learned to hide it.

Dean gave another small nod. No more. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to figure out what his little brother was hiding. "Do you really need help or should I just…" Dean made a swirling motion with his finger.

"I'm good," Sam slid from the bed to prove it and waited until Dean turned around to face the wall before snagging his clothes from the chair and changing. As he did, he started making a mental check list of what he needed to do to act on his latest vision. He had until tomorrow night- he glanced at the clock on the wall and barely suppressed a frustrated sigh. There was only an hour left until tomorrow. That would only give him the morning and afternoon to research and formulate a plan of some kind to stop whatever was going to kill the old woman in his vision.

His family problems would have to wait.

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

**House of Burden**

**By: Maygin**

**Summary: **Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section: **As promised - chapter 9! Is anyone else as excited as I am about the cooler weather?! Woot Woot! I feel like I've been reborn everytime Fall roles around. And Candy Apples are back in the stores!! Anywho, you guys are kicking butt with the reviews! It's the happiest part of my days reading reviews! ...well, other than Fall ;) Plenty more to come in this story. Thanks to Cometet for another great Beta job! I did give up however near the end on trying to keep my POV's straight so I just slapped a section seperator in there - lol, I'm a horrible author.

**Chapter 9**

Sam closed his door and locked it. It'd only taken him twenty minutes worth of cajoling and _I'm fine_ and _Yes, I'm sure I'm fine_. He'd almost lost it on the _Yes, I'm sure I'm sure_. Finally though, he'd been able to shoo his concerned and annoyingly helpful parents out of his room. Dean had gone home after they left the hospital. He'd almost wished his brother had stuck around just to thwart his parent's efforts, because he had some heavy researching to do, and no one could distract his parents like Dean could.

But then he remembered Dean wasn't batting for him anymore. Hadn't for years.

He allowed himself only a moment of relief before pushing away from his door and loading up his computer. He really hadn't gotten a good look at the creature other than its shadowed outline and claws. He did know it was big and had two arms and two legs, but he hadn't gotten any features other than that. He opened up a file called 'Weapons _for Miscellaneous Creatures_' and gathered a list. This hunt was going to be a shot in the dark. He just didn't have much to go on.

Sam printed out a few incantations and banishing rituals in case direct weaponry didn't kill it and then, gazed longingly at his bed. _God_, how he wished he could give in to temptation. He was lucky, as it was, his parents had given him the day off from school tomorro-… today. He rolled his eyes. He was even luckier that his father had a car expo he couldn't miss in Chicago he'd be leaving for this morning, _and_ his mom had an old friend flying in from California she was supposed to meet up and spend the day with. Of course, his parents didn't want to leave their recently seizure-ridden child home alone for the entire day, so they'd hired a baby sitter… Dean.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. At least his older brother was predictable enough that he'd most likely bring over a six pack and watch t.v. all day, if not, call over his current love interest. Sam was fairly certain he'd be able to slip out undetected and be gone pretty much most of the morning and afternoon without Dean calling on him. Then again, his brother had become suspicious of him. And he knew. He didn't _know_, but he knew. Knew something was definitely up. He considered calling a fellow hunter in on it, but quickly dismissed the idea, as he was pretty sure, unless they were in the surrounding area, it'd take at least a day's worth of driving to get here. By then, the old woman would be dead.

Sam shook the morbid visions from his head and turned back to his computer.

"Okay," he mumbled to himself, "need to find more victims."

Sam froze as the realization slammed into him. He sat up suddenly and reached into his back pocket, remembering the article he'd been reading before his night went bad. Smoothing out the wrinkled piece of paper, he started making the connections.

Claw marks, missing appendages, suspected animal killing despite the locked doors and such… it all jived with Sam's vision. Sam immediately started looking up everything he could find on the victims. There wasn't much on the general web, but fortunately, he had a few less than reputable contacts who'd taught him a few pointers on hacking. He broke into the local PD's system and pulled up the case files, emailed them to a random email account, and got out as quickly as he could. The last thing he needed was the police knocking down his door.

He pulled up the email account and saved the documents to a special, locked folder where he kept all his hunting business. Finally, Sam cancelled the email account and cracked his knuckles before opening the files and reading through them.

Sam's brow furrowed, and he rubbed at his dry eyes. There didn't seem to be any connections from a hunter's stand point that he could find, other than all the victims resided in Lawrence. Sam squinted suddenly as he noticed a small icon tucked away at the bottom of the reports. It was a zip file. Sam tilted his head and clicked on it.

A whole new set of reports abruptly listed in a box. More murders, more victims. But they weren't from Lawrence; they were from Columbus, Ohio. Sam frowned.

"That's different," he muttered. Usually creatures and spirits weren't free-moving or nomadic. They stayed in one area. Now, demons, vampires, and even werewolves were known to move around, always finding somewhere new to eat and create havoc. But Sam was fairly certain this wasn't a demon, nor a vampire, and, thank God, not a werewolf.

He briefly wondered if the killings in Ohio were even done by the same thing. It wouldn't be a surprise if there was more than one of whatever Sam had seen in his vision. But that didn't change the fact that the evidence from both Columbus and Lawrence were the same.

Sam squinted his eyes briefly, and then, on a whim, decided to try and check other states for such news headers.

Suddenly a light knocking sounded on his door. He whirled around expecting so see someone coming in, but remembered he'd locked it. "Yeah?"

"It's me," Mary said, then waiting a few seconds to see if he'd open the door for her. She continued on when he didn't. "I'm driving your father to the airport, and then I'll be gone the rest of the day, okay?"

Sam blinked owlishly as he glanced at his watch; he hadn't realized how much time had passed since he'd started reading through the files. "Okay, be safe," he called, trying to sound upbeat.

Sam knew Mary was having a hard enough time as it was leaving him home after last night. She'd offered a million times to apologize to her friend and cancel on their day. He knew she needed to see him one last time before she made her final decision. Sam swung his door open and stood there looking tired, but not in any distress.

Mary smiled and ran a hand over his cheek. "You're _sure_ you don't want me to stay? It's not a problem for me to-"

"Mom." Sam looked her in the eye, weary of the offers. "I'm _sure_. I was sure earlier, I'm sure now, and I'll be sure the rest of the day, I promise." He grinned lopsidedly.

Mary pouted but gave in with a loving smile. "Get some sleep. There's some leftovers in the fridge, and I left a twenty on the counter if you and Dean want to order out for dinner. He should be here in a few minutes."

"Got it," Sam nodded.

Mary paused and looked at him sincerely. "I love you."

Sam felt his insides melt a little and then cool over with guilt. _I'm doing it for them; I'm doing it for them_. He swallowed and grinned. "I love you, too."

Mary patted his cheek and disappeared into the hallway and down the steps. Sam closed his door once more and locked it behind him.

**

* * *

**

John shoved his suitcase into the trunk of Mary's car. He grimaced and started pushing and shoving other things around.

"Ready?" Mary smiled as she bounded down the front porch steps, purse over shoulder.

"Your trunk is a mess," John complained; he'd had a long couple of days.

"I know," she said sweetly and pinched his butt as she passed, opening the driver's side door.

"You know?" John repeated flatly, his suitcase hanging half out.

"Yes. But it's my trunk, and it's the only place I get to have a mess, so quit yer whining." She blew him a kiss and slid into the front seat.

John grimaced again and pulled his luggage free, slamming the trunk closed and depositing his bag in the back seat, instead. He looked up as another car drove up next to them.

Dean leisurely got out of his car and gave his father a nod of greeting. "You headed out?"

John nodded, pulling the passenger side door open. "I'll be back Sunday night."

"Kay." Dean pocketed his keys and leaned forward into his mother's window, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Be safe."

"We will. I'll be home late tonight unless you call me otherwise. And donot hesitate to call me for _anything,_ got it?" Mary said firmly.

"Loud and clear."

"And Dean," Mary called out her window knowingly, "don't go pounding on Sam's door or anything. He's probably sleeping."

"I won't," Dean said with offense. He gave one final wave as they drove off.

**

* * *

**

_KNOCK!! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!_

Sam nearly fell out of his chair as the pounding on his door startled him from the silent scribbling he'd been doing in his journal. "Yeah?!" he called out with not a little annoyance. There was no question as to who was behind his door.

"It's me, open up."

Another pound, which Sam assumed was Dean's foot, rattled the door. He snapped his journal closed and stuffed it in between his mattresses. "Hold on." He shut down his computer real quick and snapped it closed, as well, before attending to his brother's needs. Dean, however, was not in a patient mood… per usual, and another few pounds shook the door.

"I'm _coming_!"

"Take your time," Dean said sweetly. A second later another pound sounded.

"Oh my _God_!" Sam growled, turning the lock and yanking open the door. "What is your problem?!" And then he remembered who he was speaking to... Dean _knew_.

Dean had a Cheshire grin on his face before it dropped completely, and he shoved his way in. "Entertain me."

"What?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Do something - a card trick, joke, anything I don't care. I'm bored." Dean's gaze roamed the room as he flopped onto Sam's bed and lounged, looking at him expectantly.

"You just got here."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"How can you already be bored?"

"It's a rare talent of mine."

"Dean," Sam tried to sound weary, which took absolutely no effort at all. "I'm kind of tired. I was hoping to just sleep all day."

Dean looked unfazed, ignoring him completely. "I just want to know what the hell you were doin' while I was mozying around St. Mary's _West_ all day, like a fucking idiot."

Sam stilled, his eyes bouncing around his carpet and doing a very good job of avoiding his brother's calm, calculating stare. He swallowed and idly scratched at the back of his neck.

"At least make it something worth my time, like you were down there shackin' up with some girl you met." Dean snorted. "I mean, hell, if that'd been it, I'd have given you some pointers and sent you on your merry way."

Sam's eyes slid shut and he jammed fingers into them, trying to rub some moisture into them. He couldn't think. Normally, he was great at thinking on his feet, but right now, when he needed it most, his brain had bade _adios_ and shipped out. He had no excuses, and he hated that what he'd thought was harmless in its good intentions, was really showing to have been quite hurtful.

"So, what… you're just gonna stand there and ignore me? Is that it?"

"It-" Sam broke off, having no idea what he had been about to say. He just knew he needed to say something. "It's complicated," he finished quietly.

"No, see, complicated is trying to figure out why the hell your little brother's been making up tournaments to something he quit months back." Dean sat up, staring his brother down.

Sam stared at his feet, leaning back against the door jamb. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Dean said simply.

Sam glanced up only a moment and then, conceded. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

* * *

Dean sniffed in irritation, his eyes roaming the room. He hated this feeling of being a victim, especially now with his own brother as the culprit. A small voice he was really trying to ignore kept poking at him, _he thinks you're a fool, he's laughing at you_. But then a sudden thought occurred to him; he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sam laugh. Honest laughter. Lately it seemed all the kid did was walk around with a serious expression on his face and sometimes would grace them with attempting to be humorous or amused. Jenkins was right… something was definitely not right other than the obvious lying.

"Sam," Dean started and then paused, already feeling a little stupid. "Look man, I don't know what you're dealin with." He licked his lips, searching the room. "But dude… whatever it is." He turned his hazel eyes to Sam. "You don't have to fucking go through it alone, alright?"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and went back to kneading his neck, hiding his face beneath his bangs. Dean watched him, waiting for some kind of response. Anything would do at this point.

"Sam?" he asked incredulously.

Sam refused to look at him, his knee bouncing up and down, heel-toe, heel-toe. "I'm really tired Dean," he said quietly.

Dean sat back with a disappointed nod. "Fine," he grumbled, getting to his feet. Sam had thrown up so many barriers he wasn't even sure if the kid realized Dean was trying to talk to him. But he knew that was ridiculous; because guilt was written all over Sam's face. Guilt and something that looked like resignation; like Sam understood what he was doing and felt horrible for it, but accepted it because it was simply something he had to do. Dean would never admit it to anyone, but that thought scared him. Because if Sam was that determined, well, he didn't like to think about what his brother was willing to sacrifice for whatever stupid thing he was dealing with. Obviously he was willing to sacrifice his relationship with his family; he'd proven that much already.

Dean stopped next to his brother in the doorway, staring him down.

"Fine," he said again quietly. "You wanna screw up your life that's fine." And then, his voice turned dark and threatening. "But if you drag Mom and Dad down with you, I swear to God, I'll make you regret it. They don't deserve this, Sam." With that he turned, grabbed the doorknob, and closed it quietly behind him with a click.

* * *

Sam remained frozen where he was. So that was it… any chance he'd had at reconciling with his brother was over. Dean would never trust him again… would never smile at him again, joke around with him; what little interaction he'd had with his brother to begin with. And not for the first time, he wondered if it was all worth it. Wondered if he could just give it all up and go back to being normal, but visions of monsters, and demons, and blood, would never leave him. Wondered if maybe he should just confess it all, but padded white rooms and doctors with needles and straight jackets invaded his mind's eye.

Nothing worked… nothing but saving an old woman's life tonight. It was the only thing that he knew was right… so that's what he'd do.

He looked up finally, across to the folder with papers haphazardly sticking out, resting on his desk beneath his laptop. He walked across the room and took it into his hands, opening it and slipping out one sheet in particular.

He looked at the old woman's picture and profile. It had taken him a while to find it, but he was willing to admit he was pretty damn good at what he did. He closed the folder and then leaned down and snagged his backpack up. He shouldered it, and then, as if by habit, walked over, silently locked his door, walked back toward his window, slid it open and quietly shimmied down. He only spared a quick glance inside the living room window to see Dean lounging on the couch, angrily thumbing through the channels on the remote, before Sam turned away and headed down the street away from home.

**TBC…**


	10. Chapter 10

**House of Burden**

**By: **Maygin

**Summary**: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section**: I'll admit, I'm not real pleased with this chapter. There's a few things I like about it, but… yeah. Anywho, I didn't have a Beta on this chapter which will probably be quite obvious – sorry. It's starting to get into that busy time of year again. I can't say thank you enough for all the amazing reviews I've been getting!! Each one is like an extra chewy, chocolate chunk brownie :) And some of ya'll know how much I luv my brownies ;) So keep em coming please!

One last thing; for any of you guys who love the brotherly relationship and the trials that go along with that of the SN boys, you have GOT to check out these books by Rob Thurman! The first one is called Nightlife and the second is called Moonshine. They are AMAZING and AWESOME! If you're an SN fan, trust me, you'll cherish these books!! If you'd like to try and get a free copy, Faye and Brenna have created a fan site for the books at www dot auphe-the-cuff dot com. (if that doesn't work email me and I'll send you the link) There are drawings going on for free copies of the books. There's also a place for fan fiction to be started there and some other fun stuff! Check it out – you won't regret it :)

**Chapter 10**

Sam shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder as he scoped out the house across the street. It was a simple, ranch style home with a trimmed lawn, well kept pink, rose bushes and a flowery welcome sign hanging on the front door. Sam recognized the lacey curtains hanging loosely behind the living room windows. He imagined he was standing in the exact spot the monster stood in his vision.

Sam's gaze traveled up and down the street, checking out rows of houses that lined the nicely paved subdivision. The afternoon sun bore down on him, warming the day and welcoming the birds to the clear blue sky. It was days like this that helped Sam realize how easy it was for people to be fooled into thinking the world wasn't poisoned by darkness and evil that slithered in the shadows. His eyes drew back toward the small house and studied it a moment more.

He found it hard to believe the old woman he'd seen in his vision had done something to draw the creature's wrath; so it had to be random. Then again, Sam had no idea what he was dealing with. So until he did, he'd have to play the guessing game and just see what weapons in his meager stash, a few on permanent loan from Bobby, would have any affect if at all.

When in doubt, decapitate.

Not too many creatures could survive having their head dismembered; and those that could usually had a hard time fighting back still. However decapitation wasn't always as easy as it sounded, it meant you had to get close to the creature to start with and hope its neck muscles weren't made of iron because if you thought getting one slice in was hard, try going for two.

Sam drew back safely into the shadow of a large oak tree as a mid sized SUV cruised down the street, disappearing around a corner. He waited another few minutes before crossing the road and non-chalantly slinking into her back yard; scoping out the territory. He looked specifically for anything that would possibly draw the creature to her house. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary though. He crouched low against the side of the house, making certain no one was home. Finally he stood up and peeked inside the window, noting immediately the security pad next to the front door across the room. He winced, _there went that idea_.

Sam walked back across the street once more and planted himself down on the bus stop bench he'd been dropped off at when he'd first arrived. He could still see her front yard and more importantly the spot he knew the creature would appear from the covered bench. He let his book-bag slide from his shoulders and drop to the ground before plopping himself down on the bench. He pulled his math book from behind his curved knife and hand gun in his backpack before zipping it closed again and resting the book in his lap.

Sam eyed the old woman's house once more down the street, checked his watch and realized he had hours before darkness settled in. He could only hope Dean would remain stuck to the couch until then but he honestly didn't find that very likely. Sam had no illusions that he would more than likely come back to a very irate older brother if not a very irate older brother _and_ mother. He figured he'd get a phone call though first which is why he kept his cell handy in case he needed to run interference. Bottom line though, he needed to do this job. He needed to save this woman's life.

Life-saving first, family second.

It sucked but he knew it was the right thing to do. He was glad he'd brought his homework though; he needed something to occupy his thoughts other than what awaited him at home upon his return.

* * *

Dean moaned loudly as he fisted his hands in his shirt, pulled the bottom part over his head and kicked at the couch like a four year old with a temper tantrum. "I freakin HATE daytime TV!" he growled out, not caring if he woke his brother up. _In fact_…

He sat up suddenly, pulling his shirt back into place, hit the power button on the remote with more force than necessary and then bounded from the couch to the stairs, glancing at the wall clock to make sure he'd at least given the kid a few hours sleep. He'd taken a good three hour nap himself but woke up feeling the need for some quality entertainment. He took the stairs two at a time and found himself almost skipping to his brother's doorway. His parents needed to seriously consider getting a better cable package.

He paused at Sam's door and listened for a moment. He didn't know why, but something just felt _off_. Pressing his ear closer to where the door met frame, he heard nothing but still air. He knocked lightly on the door, having a little sympathy for the kid who'd just had a seizure less than 24 hours ago.

Nothing responded, not even a grumbling or a shifting beneath bed covers. He smirked and then went for his usual pounding on the door, shaking it in its frame. He waited a few moments for the inevitable, pissy, little brother face he knew he was due… but still nothing.

"Sam?" he called through the door and then raised his voice a little more loudly. "Sam!"

Nothing. The room remained silent. Dean pounded on the door now with no shame, more than a little annoyed.

"Sam get your ass outta bed and open the damn door."

When he was still without results a small slice of fear stabbed into his chest. What if Sam had another episode? Dean took a step back from the door as the fear suddenly turned to all out panic.

"Sam open the door or I'm kickin it down!" Dean took another step back and raised his leg, readying to kick in his brother's door. He stopped suddenly. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered incredulously to himself. He turned and sprinted to his old room, throwing the door open and falling to his knees in the back left corner.

Peeling back a small corner of the carpet, he plucked up his old key copy of the main interior house keys. He grinned at it before rushing back to his brother's door and jammed the key into the lock. The door clicked and suddenly Dean was stumbling into the room; eyes seeking out first the bed – empty, then the floor – also empty, and then the closet – empty, a little messy, but empty.

Dean was kneeling to check under the bed when his head did a double-take on the window to his left. It was opened just barely at the bottom, a pencil jammed beneath it to keep it from sticking closed.

"Son of a bitch," Dean ground out.

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe Sam had snuck out on him after having scared the crap out of them all with his little stunt last night. He angrily wondered not for the first time just what the hell was wrong with his little brother that he kept doing this to them. He sat back on his heels for a moment in thought.

This wasn't Sam. Yes, Sam was quiet and yet loud when he wanted to be, read weird ass books, was freakishly smart and intuitive and obsessed over the weirdest things. But Sam was also the good son, the sweet kid who was always polite and avoided trouble like the plague. For Sam to pull this shit again like this was just plain insensitive and insulting; two words he'd never use to describe his little brother. Which reaffirmed to Dean something was seriously going on with the kid. Not just your normal teenage rebellion like he kept _hoping_ it to be; but seriously wrong.

He remembered back to the years when Sammy was still in his single digits and looked to Dean like he was a superhero. He'd tell him everything and sometimes several times over just to make sure he didn't leave out any details and to make sure Dean would remember.

He didn't really remember most of the things the kid said but he definitely remembered the nightmares. He'd never forget the details Sammy would describe of horrific deaths and the haunted, frightened look in his eyes. He'd tell Dean every last detail of the nightmare and Dean would try and understand where it was coming from. But Dean had been a kid too and the Child Psychologist had told him not to encourage Sam's delusions. His job had gone from listener, comforter, and protector of the evils in Sammy's head to doubter and mocker, and why couldn't Sam stop being such an attention whore. He'd stopped listening to Sam and started telling him it was all made-up; a game Sammy played to get attention.

Really… Dean had been scared too. He didn't know what was wrong with his little brother but the educated woman with a PHD had said he needed to not encourage Sam's delusions. Dean was scared and this woman sounded like she knew what she was talking about. But as Dean pulled out a worn leather bound journal whose corner was peeking out from between the bed mattresses, he doubted seriously that she did.

Dean flipped open the worn book and was careful to make certain the clippings and other articles that were glued or stuck between the pages didn't fall out. His eyes scanned over one small article with a tiny black and white picture of a young woman. The article spoke of a tree and hanging and entrails. What was even more disturbing were the scrawled notes in the lined pages next to the article; notes on vengeful spirits and slave trades way back when.

Dean flipped through more pages of the journal a sinking feeling filling his gut. The pages were filled with Sam's notes on murders and weird science fiction and horror type things along with hand drawn pictures of symbols, faces, and monsters. That coupled with articles of gruesome deaths and-

Dean snapped the book closed and leaned his head onto his forearm, resting on the bed.

Death… this book in his hand spoke of nothing but death and horror and weird shit he didn't even want to think about.

Dean was right; Sam hadn't gotten better. He'd gotten worse by the looks of it and now he was obsessed. This was bad. Very bad. Silent obsessors were the ones in need of serious help. They were always the ones you saw on TV or read about in the news that were stalkers or serial killers. Dean ran a shaky hand over his mouth and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. He couldn't hide this anymore; not this.

"Damnit!" Dean hit the side of the bed with his fist. "Why the hell didn't you say something?" Dean growled to his absent brother. He froze and the anger slipped from his veins, turning to guilt.

He _had_.

Sam had been _saying something_ since he was six and the nightmares had first started. But because some woman with Doctor in front of her name had said so, they'd shut him down, encouraged him to stop the lies. In fact, now that Dean thought about it, he could remember the exact moment Sam had stopped being Sammy, and had stopped turning to his older brother for reassurance and comfort. Sam had been ten, and Dean had just had a grueling hour and a half long session with the Psychologist on how he needed to start treating Sam's delusions and lies.

_Stupid stupid stupid!_

Dean pushed himself up and shifted so he sat on the edge of the bed while pulling his cell phone from his back pocket. He scrolled through the numbers until he found Sam's and hit dial. The phone rang four times before going to voicemail. He cursed and dialed two more times before giving up and leaving a voicemail.

"Sam I swear to God you better answer your damn phone the next time I call. You've got five minutes before I call again. If you don't pick up I'm gettin in my car to hunt your ass down. And believe me you won't be happy when I find you." Dean growled with finality and snapped the phone shut. He ran a hand over his mouth again and glanced at Sam's alarm clock.

Five minutes. He could wait five minutes for Sam to get the voicemail and realize how stupid he was acting. He glanced at the clock again; four minutes left.

"Screw this." Dean jumped up from the bed, headed downstairs and out the front door, locking it behind him. He slid into his car and started it up.

"No one ever accused me of being patient." Dean threw the car into reverse, squealed out of the driveway and headed out of the neighborhood with no real clue as to where he was going. He figured he'd hit up the libraries first and just start driving around from there.

He startled when his phone suddenly beeped at him announcing a new message. Snatching it up, he thumbed through the menus until he found the text message.

_Dean i'm fine. Sorry if i scared you. Be back later i promise._

Dean glowered at the small phone and decided he hated text messaging. He hit the redial button and pressed the phone to his ear.

More ringing and then voicemail.

"Damnit Sam, pick up the fucking phone! I'm not kiddin around!" Dean yelled angrily. He was pretty worried at this point. He didn't care what Sam said, he wasn't fine. He needed some serious help. And Dean was prepared to listen, if he'd just _answer his damn phone_!

* * *

Sam looked at his phone's screen for the twelfth time in frustration. He never realized how freaking persistent his brother could be when it didn't involve food, women or his car. He briefly glanced at the other occupant sitting on the bus bench with him before turning the phone to vibrate and stuffing it in his jacket pocket. He smiled apologetically to the short black woman sharing the booth with him before turning back to his math book.

"Now that is either one very pissed off girlfriend, or a worried parent," the woman's soft, lilting voice grabbed his attention.

He looked up with an awkward chuckle and a sheepish smile. "Brother."

The woman nodded knowingly with a kind smile. "You're lucky you know," she turned her gaze away from him.

"Why's that?" Sam asked curiously. He really didn't feel like striking up a conversation with anybody using the bus stop for its _true_ purpose. And thus far the other three people who'd come and gone with the busses had respected the silent code of _I won't bother you if you won't bother me_.

"To have an older brother like that to watch your back. Keep you on the right path."

Sam frowned curiously. "What makes you think he's older?"

The plump woman turned a knowing smile to him, "It's written all over your face sweetie."

Sam knew the polite thing to do would be to smile back and spout off some kind of agreement that would settle the awkwardness and bring the conversation to a close. But Sam was a little thrown; he didn't like surprises and couldn't keep the wary look frown from his face.

"We're not really that close," he muttered awkwardly.

"Who decided that?" The woman's question sounded like simple curiosity, but Sam couldn't help but feel like he was being led along.

"It's kind of a mutual thing," he mumbled, feeling suddenly ashamed for reasons he didn't quite understand. On one hand he wanted to blame his brother for their current relationship, but on the other he knew he was partly responsible. He could feel the older woman's gentle eyes watching him.

"That's too bad," her soft voice spoke and then she turned to look back across the street. "These days are dark enough as is without having to fight your own brother."

Sam turned his attention back to his studies mumbling a quick, "We're not fighting," putting enough inflection of just how uncomfortable this conversation was making him into his words to hopefully end the woman's curiosity.

The older woman chuckled. "I suppose then those last twelve calls were to tell you how much he loved you then."

Sam pressed his lips together and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He turned to the woman only mildly disguising his irritation. "Do I know you?"

The woman laughed again, her voice high and lilting like small bells on a wind chime. "No I don't believe we've ever met. But I couldn't help but notice you've passed up the last two busses that have come by."

Sam's frown deepened as did his warning alert. "Are you watching me?"

"You could say I've had my eye on you for a while."

"Why?"

The woman shrugged unapologetically. "You peaked my interest."

"How's that?" Sam gripped his pencil a little tighter in his fist. Suddenly the loud rumbling sound of the bus came down the street, slowing to a stop before them.

The short, plump woman pushed herself up, held her bag tight to her breast and walked toward the bus' open door. "Take my advice child," she turned a kind, knowing smile back toward him, "Answer your phone."

And with that she stepped up into the bus and disappeared into the back. Sam gave a small wave to the bus driver, letting him know he wouldn't be joining them. The door closed and the bus pulled away down the road. Sam watched it go, the frown of confusion, curiosity and caution never leaving his face.

Sam startled when his phone started vibrating in his pocket again. He ground his teeth together and whipped it out. He flipped it open. "Dean I'm fine quit fucking calling me," he spit out and then snapped the phone shut, throwing it into the bottom of his book-bag, realizing that probably wasn't what the woman had meant by _answering the phone_.

* * *

"He did not just do that," Dean announced to his phone. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna k-" he cut himself off and instead pushed the speed button on his phone. He waited two rings before a worried voice answered.

"Dean? What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing really," Dean said lightly, "you know, other than your son sneaking out of the house again, and being a royal pain in the ass."

"Wait, what?" Mary sounded completely confused. "You're sneaking out of the house?"

"What?" Now Dean was confused. "No Mom, Sam… your other son."

"Sam snuck out of the house?" Mary asked, surprised.

"You're forgetting the pain in the ass part."

"Wait, what do you mean _'again'_?"

Dean sighed as he slowed to a stop at a red light. "Sam's been sneaking out at night Mom."

Mary was silent for a moment. He imagined her mouth hanging slightly open in shock.

"How do you know?"

Dean grimaced, knowing he was in for it now too. "I caught him a while back."

"You—what?" Dean could hear the phone fumbling around and then her voice came back clearly. "When were you going to tell me this?"

"Honestly…?" Dean didn't finish it; he knew he didn't have to.

"Oh my God, you really are my child," Mary mumbled tiredly.

"What?"

"Nothing," Mary refocused. "Do you know where he went?"

"No, but I'm out looking for him right now."

"Did you try his cell phone? Or maybe check the libraries; he's always hanging out there. Are you sure he left the house?" Mary listed off with hardly a breath in between.

"Check, check and check."

"Oh my God, what if he has another seizure?"

"Mom…" Dean hesitated. He really, _really_ didn't want to do it, but for his brother's sake, he knew he had to. "I think Sam's still having… problems."

"Like at school?" Mary asked, confused.

"No, I mean like… before." Dean stressed. "When we were kids."

Mary was silent for a moment. It was always a touchy subject with them. John and Dean never liked to talk about it. Sam pretty much acted like it had never happened. And Mary, well Mary was always trying to get them to talk about it; as if it was just a phase they had to go through and it was okay to talk about, nothing to be ashamed of. That didn't mean it didn't hurt to think about still. No one likes to think their child was mentally ill or damaged in some way.

"Why would you think that?" Mary's voice was calm yet Dean heard the underlying worry.

"I don't know for sure but… I mean have you _seen_ some of the books he's reading lately?"

"They can't be any worse than your playboy's."

"Weird stuff Mom. Like satanic type stuff." Dean could practically see his mother's floundering thoughts and concerned look.

"Sammy?"

Dean sighed, he knew this would be a hard sell. The kid was good, he'd give him that. "Mom, I'm not making this up alright? Look, last night at the conference thing, one of Sam's teachers pulled me aside and-"

"Which teacher?"

"W- uh…Jenkins, Mr. Jenkins." Dean stuttered, briefly forgetting the man's name.

"He's the one that sent me the letter."

"Yeah well he had some pretty interesting things to say about your son."

"Like what?" Mary asked warily.

"Like for instance did you know Sam quit the soccer team back in November?"

"What?"

"Yeah, and all those speech and debate tournaments he's been going to? Fake."

"I don't understand-"

"He made them up Mom!" Dean blurted. That one was still a sore spot with him; his brother had made a complete fool of him. "He quit Speech and Debate around the same time he did soccer."

"But why?" Mary sounded completely lost.

"Because he's into something- I don't even know what it is," Dean's words tripped over themselves in a hurry to get out. "But if I had to guess it sounds like he's in some kind of cult or something."

"Oh God," Mary's voice came through muffled as if she'd covered her mouth with her hand. Dean could definitely hear the slight tremble to her voice and knew there were tears to accompany it.

Dean sighed and shook his head as he pulled off to the side of the road so he could better focus. "Mom, I'm sorry-"

"No it's okay. I mean it's not okay, but…"

Dean ran a hand over his head. "I found his journal."

"His what?"

"He's been keeping a journal apparently. It was hidden in between the mattresses." He licked his lips; he really hated this. "You should see this thing Mom. Its stock full of all the stuff he used to have nightmares about."

"But…" Mary floundered. "How could we not know?"

And this was what Dean had wanted to avoid; his parents blaming themselves. "I wouldn't take it personally mom. It's like you're always saying, Sam's a smart kid."

"Don't take it personally?" Mary's voice was quietly incredulous, but Dean could hear the underlying anger. "How can I not take it personally Dean? Sam is my son, you- … you both are my children; you always will be. Everything about you I take personally."

"I know, I just… I didn't mean it like that-"

"I'm calling your father."

"Mom, wait… are you sure that's a good idea? I mean this car show is really important for the shop's business."

"Dean," Mary said, her voice becoming more unhinged and shaky as she went. "Sammy has been sneaking out of the house, he's been lying to us, God knows what he's actually getting into, and you're telling me you think he might still be having these nightmares or delusions or whatever the hell they are, I don't know, because my son quit talking to me several years ago, and now he's out there, and I'm worried about him Dean. And I can't do this on my own, I just… I need your father here okay?"

Whatever plans Dean had to argue with his mother about it had died with Mary's poorly hidden sobs. She was on the verge of becoming hysterical; Dean could hear it in her voice. "You're right. He'd want to be here. You want me to call him?"

"No, I'll call him. You just keep looking for your brother, okay?" Mary sniffed, reigning herself in.

"I'll find him Mom, I promise." The words slipped out without any thought and yet they stirred something within Dean he didn't understand; something he missed… something he wanted back.

**TBC…**

(Btw, anyone going to SN convention in Chicago this November?)


	11. Chapter 11

**House of Burden**

**By**: Maygin

**Summary**: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section: **You guys are absolutely spoiling me with all these awesome reviews! Thank you kindly so dang much! I also want to throw another shout out to OSS for submitting this plot-line to being with, because I am having a ball writing this! Thanks OSS and I'm glad you're enjoying it! We're starting to get into the part of the story I'm really excited about, so I hope you like it! The next few chapters will start including more clarity as to how the brother's came to the distant relationship they're in, as well as some juicy angst feral grin, and a little… _insanity_… Cheshire grin

**Chapter 11**

Sam tossed the empty Mountain Dew bottle into his backpack, making sure it was out of the way of his weapons for when he needed them. He was tired, he was sore and quite frankly, he was crabby. He may be used to the visions; scratch that, he'd never get used to them, but he was familiar with their effect now enough to know he'd have a migraine the next day if not more, and he'd be sore from his muscles clenching so tightly from the pain. Visions made him a little cranky and now on top of that he was exhausted and his world was kind of falling apart at home. He briefly considered getting a bullseye tattooed on his forehead; not that the world and the world beyond needed any encouragement.

A sudden vibrating sound filled his hearing, shrilling metallically every few seconds as the phone in the bottom of his bag shifted and pressed against his knife which was resting beneath his gun. He could only imagine who was calling him now. He was fairly certain it was still Dean. After hanging up on him, he had a pretty good feeling his brother had called his parents. He was a little surprised they hadn't put out an APB on him. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably a likelihood.

Crap.

That was all he needed. Just one more offence in the long list that Sam was going to have to answer for. He squeezed his eyes shut when the vibrating started up again and finally just kicked the bottom of his bag until it stopped. Tiredly, he tried to knead out the sore muscles in his neck, raising his eyes to scan the darkened street, one house in particular.

He'd waited patiently and finally it was dark. The street lights had slowly flickered on an hour ago and the sun had given its fond farewell before dropping below the horizon.

Sam recognized Bonnie Miller the second she'd arrived home a few hours back, slowly pulling into her garage with the careful ease of one too old to easily distinguish depth and distance. Even getting out of the car and into her home was a slow task and had Sam itching to offer his assistance when she pulled two bags of groceries from her trunk. But then the garage door had closed and Bonnie Miller was closed off from his sight.

But not from his mind. He imagined the grandchildren that would mourn the loss of this obviously sweet old woman and the small gifts she probably spoiled them with during visits. Life was a gift, something to be treasured. Sam wanted to help preserve that if he could.

He glanced down at his watch one last time; then made a decision. He stood, shouldered his bag and silently stayed in the shadows as he moved closer to where he'd seen the creature in his vision appear. He stopped behind a large, looming tree, which in the daylight was probably beautiful and bold in its splendor. In the dark of night it was large and ominous, casting dark shadows beneath its girth. It was a perfect spot for him to be invisible. And it was just across the street from Bonnie Miller's house.

He silently let his bag slide from his shoulder to the ground. Crouching down beside it, he unzipped it and reached inside, positioning his Beretta so it could be easily grabbed without looking. Bobby had gone above and beyond the call of duty and friendship when he'd supplied Sam with a small arsenal of weapons he felt every hunter should have. Sam knew it wasn't cheap and Bobby could get into serious trouble if Sam was found with the weapons and the serial numbers linked back to him. So he made certain he was careful in his handling of the weapons and careful in his hiding of them. Fortunately his childhood home came with the convenience of some rather nice hidey holes in the basement; behind stacked boxes of junk his parents had been swearing for years they were going to go through and get rid of.

Even more telling was the sheer amount of effort and time Bobby had put into meeting up with Sam and teaching him how to use the weapons, clean them and generally respect them. Sam had a LOT to thank the man for. Other than the weapons, Bobby had helped teach Sam how to fight dirty; helped turn himself into a weapon if needs be. And the years of martial arts training his parents had paid for, as a way to bring him out of his childhood funk, were paying off as well; despite how much Dean had laughed at him for it growing up.

Sam knew he could hold his own against a lot of things, but when it came to the supernatural he knew his best weapon was knowledge. And he had next to nothing to go on with this hunt, other than what he saw in his vision.

Sam's muscles clenched suddenly and his breath halted in his throat as his ears picked up and homed in on a wispy, almost flapping noise that came to a sudden silence. The lights lining the street gave a good three or four flickers and then fizzled out, leaving the street in complete darkness. Sam lifted wide eyes when his ears picked up a low grunting noise to his right.

He could just make out its silhouette against the darkness and it was everything he remembered from his vision; big, looming and scary. He caught sight of it just in time to see it pull it's large, pointed and claw-tipped wings in, tucking them behind its back.

It rumbled deeply in its chest, like a predator savoring the scent of its unsuspecting prey. The sound had Sam's hand tightening around his gun, fingers sliding into place and the steel cool against his suddenly sweaty palm. The creature hadn't moved yet from where Sam imagined it had landed from flight. It stood its ground, looming and looking for all intents and purposes as if it was sizing up its prey. Sam watched it intently; doing a little measuring up himself; memorizing its movements and its noises, taking every little piece of the creature he could and cataloging it for future reference. Because Lord knew if a full clip of silver bullets didn't work on this thing he'd need whatever information about it he could get to have a fighting chance.

Sam's eyes peeked around the tree to Bonnie Miller's house and caught a glimpse of her silhouette moving behind her lacey, white curtains. The shadowed creature grunted again, obviously spotting its prey as well. A sudden whirring noise filled the silent night air and Sam's blood froze in his veins; his head whipping down to his backpack and the vibrating cell phone at the bottom. He had only a half a second to curse his own stupidity before an unhappy grunt had his eyes lifting to see the glowing, ice blue eyes of the creature, prominent in the shadowed face, staring directly at him.

He didn't hesitate. He slipped his Beretta free from his bag and stood in one smooth move. He hardly took a split second to aim before he was firing off a few rounds into the creature's bulk. As Sam had feared, the silver bullets had little affect on the creature that was now definitely less than pleased with him, shrieking out a high pitched scream and charging him.

Sam barely had time to get off two more shots before the thing's large bulk of an arm swept him aside. He hit the ground and rolled in time to see a set of large, sharp, black claws rake down across his forearms he raised to shield himself. Sam felt the sharp sting of pain slice into him followed by another shrilling scream from his attacker and next Sam felt something club him across his head.

He was done, he knew it. His gun had scattered from his grip across the sidewalk and tipped onto the street; his head felt fuzzy and there was a ringing in his ears. He couldn't lift his arms to even make a reach for another weapon. He waited for it. But it never came.

He peeled his eyes open and just barely made out through the blurry mess, the dark outline of the creature as it suddenly sped across the street and then black filled the numbness.

* * *

"_Are you comfortable?" Despite the soothing kindness of the voice, the little boy continued to watch the older woman's movements with wary eyes as she sat in her familiar chair facing the cushy, leather couch, clipboard in hand._

"_Yes," the young boy responded with quiet uncertainty._

"_Good," the confident woman smiled warmly. She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, attempting to give her clients an air of ease with their environment. "Sam I asked your brother to join us today so we could discuss how your_ imaginative stories _are affecting your family; how it makes them feel."_

_Sam glanced hesitantly to his right toward his older brother who sat in the opposite corner avoiding his gaze and looking for, all the world, like he wished he was anywhere else. Dean didn't want to be here, but he was, because Sam was sick. If Sam understood anything it was _that_; and the guilt of it made him want to cry and disappear into the cushions. Instead the ten year old quietly dropped his head and stared at his clasped hands._

"_Did you know your stories were affecting your family?" The woman asked kindly._

_Sam's throat went dry and his stomach flipped. "Yes," he barely whispered._

"_Okay," the Doctor soothed with a small nod of her head. "Dean?" She turned her attention to the fourteen year old who, despite their discussions this past week, looked ready to throw in the towel and go running out the door. "Can you tell your brother how it makes you feel when he tells you one of his stories?"_

_Sam didn't look at him; he couldn't. He was busy remembering all the nights he'd spent sleeping in Dean's room instead of his own after sobbing out all the frightening details of his latest nightmare. He'd never once thought about how the dreams might affect his older brother and Dean had never given him any indication that they bothered him; in fact he'd encouraged Sam to talk about it and not leave out any details and then he'd hug him and sooth him and tell him jokes or tickle him until they grew tired again and they'd fall asleep. But Sam wasn't stupid; he may only be ten, but he'd always been good at reading people, and right now he knew whatever Dean was about to reveal was going to hurt._

"_Sam," the older brother started and then hesitated._

_Sam could see him out of the corner of his eye; could see the struggle Dean was going through to tell him the truth of it all. He waited quietly, feeling like the scared man in the museum from his latest nightmare, pressed down and waiting for the guillotine to fall. _

_Dean had heard all about that one too, but he didn't expect his brother knew what it felt like right now. No, Dean clearly felt something else right now, and Sam was fairly certain he knew what it was. Because for the past two months the Doctor had been talking to him about lies and fantasy and make believe and how to properly express when you need attention. He couldn't help but feel set up for failure in this latest discussion. No, there was no doubt in Sammy's mind what he was about to hear._

"_Take your time Dean," the Doctor interjected softly and kindly._

_Sam hated this woman. Hated her clean cut, suit dresses she wore; hated the way she never had a hair out of place; hated her soft voice that was always kind and full of good intentions; hated the way she talked to him like he didn't understand what he was doing; but mostly… mostly he hated her for turning his family against him; making them think he was making it all up. To Sam, the woman was no better than some of the monsters he saw in his nightmares._

"_Dean?" the monster gently called._

_And this time Sam did turn his eyes to his right, seeing the tightly pressed lips and frown marring his older brother's face. Dean looked decidedly uncomfortable and unhappy staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. Sam watched his Adam's apple bounce slightly; then he spoke._

"_Mom cries almost every night and Dad hasn't smiled in months." Dean's voice was reserved, as if he was almost fighting himself to get the words out and yet keep them in at the same time. "I wanted to believe you Sammy but…" and then Dean turned to look at him and Sam was devastated by the firm, disappointed green eyes staring back at him, "This has gotta stop. You're hurting Mom and Dad and I'm tired of being lied to."_

_Sam dropped his gaze to his lap, tears welling in his eyes. They dripped onto his tightly clenched hands._

"_Okay," the monster's soft voice spoke up again. "I think that's enough for one day." She gently pressed a few Kleenexes into Sam's clenched hands. Sam felt a shift on the couch dipping toward him but then- "Actually Dean, why don't you go outside and wait with your parents. It's okay; we'll be done here shortly."_

_And then Sam felt the couch shift again and the monster replaced his brother next to him. He sniffed, poorly attempting to keep himself from out and out sobbing, but it wasn't working. The monster was rubbing her hand softly across his back which only made the betrayal that much worse. And then the door clicked softly closed behind his brother and Sam knew he was on his own._

* * *

Awareness came back to Sam with a deep and overwhelming sense of loneliness. The memory lingered on the edge of haze that hovered in his consciousness. It was all quickly overtaken by senses that suddenly flared to life. _Pain, burning, dizziness, nausea._ The ground beneath him was soft and yet hard against muscles that had stiffened, and there was an annoying stream of something trickling down his arms. Eyes, he needed to open his eyes. It took some effort but he finally got his eyes to peel open and then had to blink furiously to clear them.

It was dark, the street minimally lit by the dull glow of street lights. _Why was he outside?_ He curled his fingers into the soft grass, registering the numbness in them and the pain along his arms as he used the muscles. He drew in a deep breath and then pushed up, curling his legs up beneath them so he was kneeling. He waited a moment to let the dizziness stabilize into something doable before raising his head and taking a better look at his surroundings.

He vaguely remembered the street and the houses lining-

"Oh no," he whispered as his eyes latched onto the house across the street. The front bay windows were shattered, leaving jagged edges of glass along the frame in places. The lights of the house were out and Sam could feel a stillness to it that hadn't been there before. His breathing quickened and in a panic, he pushed off the ground and staggered across the street, tripping over his own feet a few times. He glanced inside the broken bay window seeing a trashed living room; couch slashed with stuffing bursting free, television smashed, and on the floor, pictures hanging crooked and shattered, an armoire lying face down with large, claw-like scratches pitted deeply across the fine wood.

And blood. Lots of blood.

Sam's eyes roamed the room into the kitchen beyond and noticed the back door hanging off its hinges. He stumbled around to the back of the house, stopping at the bottom of the three stone steps leading up through the back door. He already knew what he'd find; but he had to check and make sure… if there was even a chance she might've survived…

He swallowed his fears and stepped up through the back entrance, ducking beneath the door hanging off the hinges. He took a few silent steps into the kitchen, stopped, and listened for any kind of sound; something that would alert him to the monster's presence. There was nothing. The house was silent but for his own barely controlled breathing. He swallowed thickly and made his way to his left into the dining room. It was small, the table was upturned against the back wall and there was a large blood stain across the carpet, like something had been dragged… something like a little old lady.

Sam brought a numb hand up and covered his mouth and nose from the metallic stench that he was quickly becoming familiar with as a hunter. He'd never get used to the smell of blood, no matter how many years he survived doing this, he refused to. He took two steps further into the room, following the blood stains with his eyes and there, not more than five feet away laid Bonnie Miller in a pool of her own blood. Dark stains of coagulated blood mixed with the brighter blood still dripping from open veins.

Sam took the last few steps toward her and fell to his knees, blood soaking into his jeans. The woman's body was a mess; huge gaping wounds from claws lay open and bare with pooled blood and other bodily fluids dripping from the edges of torn skin and organs. It was gruesome and it was all Sam could do not to throw up right then and there. He raised a trembling hand and brought it to her neck; _he had to know, he had to know_. But he stopped when he couldn't find a spot on her throat that wasn't torn open leaving stringy muscle and veins bared and pulled out like string. He tried to swallow but ended up gasping. Tears pooled in his eyes and stung from dryness. Glancing down at the old woman's chest, he could clearly see beneath the clawed skin and bone a space of pooled blood where her heart at one time rested.

Tears dripped down Sam's face as he sucked in a wet breath and let himself go.

_Dead. Dead. She was dead_. He'd seen it happen, he was supposed to stop it, but he didn't. And now she lay in her own blood and guts after being torn into by a monster. The guilt was heavy and oppressing and it was too much; _too much_. He shoved off the floor and stumbled out of the house, down the street and into the darkness of Lawrence.

**TBC…**

(Don't forget to hit that review button and spread a little luv – pwweeeaaaasseeee :) I love hearing from ya'll. More flashbacks to come later.)


	12. Chapter 12

**House of Burden**

**By: Maygin**

**Summary**: Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section: **Sorry this is a couple days late guys! Haven't found a new beta yet so take it with a grain of salt. Your reviews guys are just making me beam all day long! Thank you kindly! I know some of you have been wondering how much longer poor Sam is going to have to deal with all this, well I think there's going to be a total of 17 chapters… maybe. I just finished 14 and working on 15. So we shall see. I've actually gone back and cut a lot of it up so it doesn't get too lengthy… well, anymore lengthy than it already is :) I don't want to draw it out too much, don't want it to become annoying! So I'm just letting you know that there IS a light at the end of the tunnel ;)

**Chapter 12**

Dean shut the front door behind him and leaned back. He was tired. He was worried. He was tired of being worried. Dean loved his car and loved every second he spent in it; except when the seconds were spent scouring Lawrence, Kansas and a little beyond for one seventeen-year-old, floppy-haired, deceiving, younger brother.

He wasn't too fond of that.

He was even less fond of the fact that he'd promised his mother who was making arrangements to pick Dad up from his impromptu flight back that he'd find the kid. Because Dean hated failing, unless it came to school. And right now he felt he was failing not just his parents but his family as a whole. He'd seen the shows, read the hallmark cards, he was supposed to be the supportive, protective, keep 'em straight, older brother. Well screw the Cleaver's… life just didn't work out that way; and sometimes little brothers were messed up in the head.

Dean closed his eyes, running a hand down his face. He didn't know what else to do; where else to look. Apparently if Sam wanted to hide, he was going to disappear altogether. Dean pushed off the door and sluggishly moved down the hall toward the kitchen. He dropped his keys and shucked his jacket onto the kitchen table and pulled the refrigerator open. He needed a beer like no tomorrow and what the hell was that noise? He backed out of the fridge for a moment and listened.

_Water. _

Water was running upstairs. He cringed, thinking his parents had made it home earlier than they'd thought. Well, earlier than the ten p.m. flight they'd been aiming for. _Great_. And he'd come home empty-handed.

He snagged a beer, popped the top and threw back a few gulps. Just as he lowered the bottled for air, his cell phone started ringing loudly in his discarded jacket. He set his beer down and lunged for the instrument, praying to the God of the universe that it was his brother and that his parents hadn't been alerted to his presence just yet.

"Hello?" he grunted, anger bubbling beneath the surface.

"Dean, did you find him?" Mary's voice was clear with hope.

Dean's brows folded together. "Mom? Where are you?"

"At the airport, your father had to do standby and won't be in for another… Dean?"

Mary's voice went unheeded though as Dean dropped the phone with sudden clarity. Forgetting his beer and the _no running in the house_ rule, he tore down the hall and scaled the stairs in record time. He almost tripped into the white, wooden door and started pounding on it.

"Sam? I know you're in there, open the damn door!" Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized it probably wasn't a good idea to display open anger at the kid… Sam was having serious issues, right? But Dean couldn't help it; he'd driven and searched through every freaking corner of his hometown and even discovered a few spots he wish he hadn't.

"Sam- Open the fucking door or I'm kicking it down ya hear?!" He remembered his lesson from earlier however and checked the door knob to make sure it wasn't locked. It turned in his hand and he felt vaguely disappointed. He really wanted to kick the door in. He was mad. And nothing was going to change that.

Except the scene that swung into view as the door slowly opened on its own.

His stomach plummeted and his heart felt swallowed into his lungs. Blood and dirt streaked the tile floor, slowly mixing with condensation and water from the running shower. And there, curled against the back of the tub sat Sam; fully clothed, soaked to the bone and still as death. He even had his tennis shoes on still. Sam's arms were wrapped around his bent legs and a watery stream of red swirled down the white tub, disappearing down the drain.

Dean was frozen. He was scared. This was the last scene he'd ever expected to walk in on. He didn't know what to do and even more so, he was scared no matter what he did, it wouldn't be enough. Finally his numb brain kicked in and he entered the bathroom, taking steps around the blood and dirt smearing the floor. He noticed a bloody handprint on the white sink as he passed and it was all he could do to turn away from it.

Dean crouched on the floor and shut the shower off, cold water soaking into his sleeve. He stared at the small stream of blood that continued to flow into the drain with wide eyes and reminded himself to breath.

Drawing in a deep, gulp of air he finally turned toward his brother.

Sam hadn't moved. And now that Dean was closer he could see the small shivers along his brother's too pale skin. "Sam?" he forced out of his tight throat. It barely came out a whisper. He swallowed and reached a hand out. "Sam?" he tried again, laying a hand on his brother's arm. The moment his fingers touched Sam's skin he pressed forward, wrapping his entire hand around the limb.

_Cold. Too cold._

Sam's skin was too cold to be_ just_ from the chilled water and he was pale as death. Dean reached his other arm forward and gently lifted his brother's water drenched head.

"Oh shit," he whispered, feeling what little blood he had left in his head drain. Sam's eyes were barely open, hollow and glazed, but more distressing, Sam's lips were white with tinges of blue creeping in. Blue was bad. Blue meant someone wasn't getting enough oxygen.

Dean shifted closer, holding his brother's head back and watched with an intensity he wasn't aware he possessed.

_Breathe_… _breathing_… Sam was breathing. Then what-

The blood. People turned blue from not enough blood too. "Shit!"

His head whipped down and suddenly he was frantically unfolding his brother and looking for the source of blood. It only took him as far as pulling the kid's arms back to find it. Three jagged cuts still oozing blood across his left wrist and two identical ones across his right.

"Oh my God," Dean's voice was breathy and on the verge of full out panic. _Phonephonephone!_ He needed a phone!

Dean stumbled to his feet and didn't bother trying to avoid the bloody streaks along the floor as he practically flew into his parent's bedroom and snagged their portable phone from its cradle. On his way back he slipped in the mess on the floor and ended up tumbling into the side of the bathtub, the phone flying from his fingers and clunking around in the tub. He snatched it up, and sent a worried glance at his brother. Sam's eyes sluggishly roamed the ceiling.

With shaking hands, Dean dialed 911.

The Dispatcher's calm voice helped Dean focus enough to spit out his address before a handful of clunks followed the phone into the tub once more. Dean snagged two towels hanging on a bar behind him and made quick work of tightly wrapping his brother's wrists.

"Hang in there Sam," his voice shook and he sent worried glances at his brother's slack face. Sam's eyes had closed, finally passing out.

Dean's fingers were white where he gripped the towels. Fifty percent of it was from knowing direct pressure was a must, but the rest was all fear. Fear of losing his brother. Fear of what would happen to their family if they lost Sam. His parents would be ruined; devastated beyond repair.

"You stupid idiot," Dean choked out. His eyes burned with welling tears. "How could you be so fucking _stupid_?!"

His arms were starting to shake now too, his fingers, colorless, blending into the white towels. Dean had never understood suicide. Yeah, life sucked sometimes, but you just had to roll with the punches and make the best of it. Don't take life so seriously was his motto. Because shit like this happened when you did. He couldn't imagine what Sam had been thinking when he'd sliced himself up. What the hell went through someone's head when they cut into their own skin??

He was saved from that line of thinking when the beautiful sound of sirens hit his ears.

"They're here Sam. So don't you fucking die on me you hear? Sammy?" Dean heard the pounding on the front door followed by the thumping of feet on stairway. Tears were making their way down his cheeks. He ignored it all though with a final, whispered plea. "Please don't die on me Sammy."

**

* * *

**

It had been touch and go for a while and Dean found himself in a familiar setting. Sitting in a waiting room; flanked by his parents and staring at the opposite wall. The news was on a TV hanging from the ceiling but they all three ignored it. Instead they relished the silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Surprisingly, they were alone in the waiting room. _Good_, Dean thought. He didn't feel like fighting for territorial rights this time. Every few seconds he could hear a quiet sniffle from his left. And every few minutes Dean found a hand attached firmly to his arm. As predicted, this was hitting his parents hard. And apparently they needed the comfort of knowing _one_ of their sons was okay and still with them. He could allow them that.

"Mr. Winchester?" A familiar voice quietly cut through the numb silence.

Dean noticed he and his family didn't leap from their chairs this time. They were all tired, bones ached with worry and getting out of the plastic chairs this time was certain to be met with bad news. A decision had to be made. Dean could see it in his parent's eyes, he knew.

Dr. Joplin shook John's hand and offered a sympathetic look toward Dean and Mary. "We've stitched him up and gave him a transfusion. He'll be lethargic for a few days until he gets his energy back."

Mary's hand pressed against her forehead wearily, a few tears escaping. John's arm wrapped around her, kneading her arm.

"Overall he's got sixty-two stitches in his arms which we've covered with some pressure bandages to allow the veins some more time to heal. He also seems to have hit his head at some point, enough to give him a very minor concussion."

Dean looked up after a brief silence and realized everyone was looking at him. He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he fell in the shower or something after he…" He couldn't finish it. He just couldn't.

Dr. Joplin sighed deeply and lowered his voice. "You realize with this type of self-inflicted injury I'm under obligation to detain the patient up to 96 hours for evaluation and treatment?" It was a statement of fact, not a question.

John nodded gravely, his arm tightening around Mary. "We understand."

"You do have the right as parental guardians to forgo the evaluation period-"

"No," Mary looked up, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"Mary-"

"No," she cut him off, turning in his arm to face him, resting her palms against his chest. "John, this has gone on long enough. Something is_ wrong_ with our son. _Please_… I don't know how to help him."

Dean felt his gut twist as his mother's naked confession. He watched his father wilt under his wife's watery-eyed plea. And then John looked up at the doctor.

"We consent," he quietly informed.

"If you'd like some time to think it over-"

"No. She's right," John admitted. "If he tried to… if he did this," he shook his head, "We don't know how to help him. I mean, who the hell knows, we might be making things worse."

"I highly doubt it." The doctor comforted them with a kind smile. "Suicide is a result of a mental illness, something that needs to be treated. It could be he never fully recovered from his first bout back when he was younger. But I'll leave that to Dr. Reidisser. He's our resident psychiatrist and will be handling Sam's care."

"Can we see him?"

Dr. Joplin nodded. "Because of his mentality we've sedated him to help him get some rest for the evening. And I should warn you, we're also obligated to use restraints while he's in the ER. Though I can assure you they're soft restraints and more than likely he won't even notice their presence while he sleeps."

Dean ran a hand over his face, rubbing hard against the skin. This was really happening. His little brother had tried to kill himself and now they were going to send him to the loony bin. His family, his own flesh and blood, sending him off to be treated as a crazy person who needed to be restrained.

"For what it's worth, I think you're making the right decision here. The human mentality is entirely complicated and fragile. It could be that Sam's current state is what triggered his seizure the other night." The doctor gave a small nod. "I'll show you to his room." He started walking down the hall, speaking over his shoulder. "We'll be moving him to the seventh floor here soon which is our psychiatric ward. I can personally attest to the staff up there; they're good people and will take care of Sam."

"What about visiting hours?" Mary asked.

"During the evaluation period we do not allow visitors. This-"

"We can't see him?" Dean blurted. He didn't like the idea of leaving his kid brother in the hands of a mind doctor again. Not when he wasn't so certain the last one hadn't made things worse. John laid a hand on his shoulder as the doctor continued with an apologetic nod.

"This is so we can properly evaluate his mental status without outside distractions. People tend to hide things more when family and friends are involved."

Dean deflated. _That_, he could believe.

"Here you go." Dr. Joplin stopped at a curtain, facing them. "A nurse will be by in a few minutes with some paperwork and transfer papers that will put Sam into our care during the evaluation period. If you have any more questions or concerns, you can call and ask to speak with Dr. Reidisser. He'll be more than happy to talk with you." The doctor nodded at them and pulled the curtain back, enough for them to walk through.

Even walking in knowing they were there didn't dilute the amount of anger and possession at seeing the restraints securely fastened to his brother's wrists and ankles. He fisted his hands against his jeans. "Are those really necessary? I mean they drugged him didn't they? What the hell do they need to tie him down for too?"

"Dean," John's voice was quietly firm. Him and Mary had taken up their place at their youngest's side; Mary running a hand through Sam's hair. "It's standard procedure-"

"Screw procedure! It's stupid-"

"Hey!" Dean immediately quieted. He didn't often mess with that tone. John softened. "This is hard on all of us bud. But your brother needs help. For God's sake, he tried to _kill_ himself tonight." Something Dean had never seen before filled his father's eyes and his voice seemed strained. "If this is the way we help him then by God we're gonna do it. Okay?"

The last part wasn't a demand, more of a plea. Dean's father had never begged him for anything; but he was begging for his cooperation now. They were all so lost and hurt in this; all of them just barely holding it together. None of them knew how to help Sam so once again they found themselves having to put their trust in others who claimed they could.

Mary seemingly ignored the tension in the room as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against her baby's forehead, whispering small comforts and promises of love. Tears continued to slip down her cheeks unheeded. John grabbed Sam's hand while he continued to rub circles along his wife's back.

Dean decided right then and there he needed to speak with this Dr. Reidisser, _alone_. He needed to let him know his thoughts on Sam's past counseling sessions and how they were going to handle him now. He also needed to let the doctor know about his brother's recent bout of lying and sneaking out of the house. He didn't want to drop one more thing on his parent's if he could prevent it. They were obviously at a breaking point as it stood.

Dean watched his parents fall apart a little more as they prepared to let go of their son for a few days. Sam was pale as the sheets beneath him… and still. Sam was never still, even when he was reading a book, he still had a pen tapping on the table or his knee bouncing up and down. Sam was always moving; skittish half the time. This… this was just a body lying on some non-descript bed. His dark hair was stark against the white… _white_ skin, _white_ sheets, _white_ clothes. Everything was _frickin white_ and it made Dean wish he had some paint cans to throw around.

He stayed near the back of the room. He didn't want to go near his brother. If he did, he knew the restraints would be history in a matter of seconds. Dean couldn't imagine what it would be like to wake up in a strange environment, tied down and trusting other people to take care of you. Nausea crept up his throat and he felt his own cheeks pale suddenly.

"I'll be in the hallway," he muttered, turned, and retreated without a backward glance.

* * *

_Dean stumbled through the doorway in a rush, still getting used to his new height at fourteen. Add on to that he was exhausted from the horrible counseling session earlier that day and the fact that he felt so guilty and wrong about saying the things he did, it was no wonder he'd almost tripped over himself in his haste. _

_It was an un-Godly hour of the morning, crescent moon outside, and his little brother was pressed into the corner of his bed next to the wall. Sammy was screaming hysterically and kicking his feet against the sheets, trying to push further into the corner, arms flailing against the wall and headboard._

_Dean hurried across the room, feeling the bed dip under his knees as he reached out to his frightened brother. _

"_Sammy – Sammy!" Dean dodged a small arm that swiped past his face. He wrestled for the smaller boy's wrists, grasped them tightly and pressed them against the boy's chest. "Wake up!"_

_Suddenly as if a switch had been flipped, Sam's eyes opened and he went from hysterical to silent in a single second. The only sound being the heavy breaths he was quickly trying to swallow. Dean released a wrist to push his little brother's damp bangs back, running the hand over the boy's head. It was the next step in the process of 'calming Sammy'. Wake him up, calm his breathing, wipe away the tears, whisper safe and supportive words, let him talk it through, and then whisper more words of safety and love until he falls asleep again. _

_Only Dean wasn't so sure about the 'talking it through' part. The doctor had said not to encourage the delusions. But how were nightmares delusions? Sitting here, seeing Sammy damp with sweat and trembling all over… how did a ten year old _**delusion **_themselves into that? Maybe Sammy made up some of the crazy stuff he did, but the nightmares; there was no doubting those were real._

"_You okay?"_

_Dean could hear Sam swallow loudly before two bright, watery eyes looked up to him and then suddenly went blank. Dean's hand paused on the younger boy's head._

"_Sammy?"_

_Sam sniffed and ran an arm beneath his nose. The once watery eyes were dry as a desert now and all traces of emotional distress had all but disappeared. _

"_Hey," he encouraged softly despite knowing he wasn't supposed to. "Talk to me."_

_But Sammy had shut him out. Dean could almost see the walls his little brother had thrown up in a matter of seconds and it left him slightly speechless. He'd never seen Sam so closed off and it made something inside his stomach twist painfully. Sammy always talked to him; trusted him. He was always open and sharing. This, this shutting down on him… it hurt._

"_Sammy?" he tried again, reaching a hand out to make contact. But Sam pulled away; shifting down in the bed to lay on his side, his back to Dean. _

_The top sheet was pulled over the boy's chin and a small voice softly spoke up behind it. "It's Sam."_

_The knife in Dean's stomach twisted further and swallowing became painful. His little brother had literally just turned his back on him. He either didn't want him anymore or didn't need him anymore, and frankly both were just as painful. It hurt and Dean hated hurting. It stewed and culminated into something else, something he could manage… anger. It welled within him, and he felt his own walls building up as he sat there staring at his brother's back._

_He sniffed and gave a small nod. "Fine," he said stonily. He got up, exited the room and never returned as the same brother he'd been when he'd entered. Neither of them did._

**TBC…**

(flashback number two! Hope this helps explain a little more where the boys current relationship is coming from; why they're both so distant and reluctant)


	13. Chapter 13

**House of Burden**

**By: **Maygin

**Summary:**Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section:** I think I confused some people in the last chapter. Sam did not try to kill himself, the wounds were from the creature. I wrote it like that though to show the POV from Dean and the family and how the rest of the world would see them. Sorry about the confusion, my bad. I'm still aiming to try and keep this story at 18 chapters, but I might slip in a short epilogue chapter, just so ya know :) Thank you for the continual support in your reviews!! Lord knows it's hard to motivate yourself to write some days ;)

**Chapter 13**

The ceiling was white; a sea of white. No ceiling tiles for the psyche ward; couldn't have the patients escaping. Sam grimaced. He'd always joked about it in his head, but he'd never thought he'd actually be here. He was officially the black sheep of the family now. Dean may have held the title for his teenage years, but Sam was pretty sure getting admitted to a psyche ward for attempted suicide topped the charts.

Sam had been confused as hell when he'd first woken up; tied down and alone. The last thing he'd remembered was seeing Bonnie Miller's torn body. Everything else was a little blurry. A helpful nurse came in a minute later though confirming Sam's suspicion there was a camera stashed somewhere in the room.

She filled him in on everything. How he tried to kill himself, which reminded him suddenly why his wrists hurt so much. She filled him in on how his brother found him, called an ambulance, parents came, agreed to admit him so he could _get some help_.

Sam remembered the sick feeling in his stomach when he thought about Dean finding him. He imagined he looked pretty bad, bleeding all over the shower like that. Dean must've freaked. Sam would. Hell, finding Mrs. Miller's body like that had half-way traumatized him and she was a complete stranger. He liked to think if it hadn't been for the combined blood loss, he wouldn't have lost it like he had; dumping himself, fully clothed into a shower to try and clean the blood off so no one would know. He wanted to laugh at the image, but he was too busy worrying over how this changed the Winchesters.

He'd worried over it the last three hours since he'd woken according to the clock in the wall. He knew his family still loved him. It was the reason he was in here after all. So he could _get some help_. If only they knew.

And why wasn't he telling them again? Oh that's right, because this life totally sucked. He couldn't imagine his sweet, warm, beautiful mother existing in the world of hunting. He didn't want to imagine it; she'd change… they all would. Just like he had.

He winced slightly as he turned his wrist a bit, a sharp stab shooting up his arm. He cursed the creature for the hundredth time for cutting him up where he had, as if he'd known. Suicide… _as if_. Though, it was probably better to go with that story than the huge, scary monster had tried to kill him. That would probably get him locked up in a _straight jacket_ and put away for good.

So suicide it was. He'd play nice, listen to the helpful doctor, then feel miraculously better about life, go home and then kick the living shit out of that creature. He didn't care if he had to call on fifty hunters to help do it; it was personal now.

First, he needed to get out of here. And that wasn't going to happen in a day. Meanwhile that monster would still be out there, murdering. He needed to call Bobby. He _needed_ to get out of these restraints.

Suddenly the door clicked opened. "Hello Sam, I'm Doctor Reidisser. I'll be your doctor throughout your stay with us." The older man pulled the lone chair in the room up to his bed and sat down, laying a clip board on his lap. "How are you feeling this morning? Rested up?"

Sam watched him warily; this was the man who held his ticket out. "I guess."

"How are your wrists doing? Are they hurting?"

"A little," he admitted, hoping it would get the restraints off him.

"Let's have a look at them." _Bingo_. Dr. Reidisser reached forward, pulling the Velcro straps off both hands. "Let's sit you up too; might be a little more comfortable."

Off went the ankle restraints as well. Sam felt ten times better being able to sit up on his own, legs hanging off bed. The doctor took a wrist into his hands and started un-wrapping the bandages. Sam's eyes widened slightly when he was the ugly looking cuts and the amount of stitches holding them closed for the first time. He had no idea they were that bad when it'd happened. Not that he'd really looked all that closely, he'd been a little preoccupied with a little old lady getting mauled.

He suddenly felt a pair of eyes watching him and looked up.

"You didn't realize it was that bad did you?" Dr. Reidisser asked kindly.

"Wel- I- uh." It was true, just not in the sense the doctor imagined it was.

"It's okay Sam. It happens to a lot of people. Situations and emotions become overwhelming and suddenly you're cutting into your own skin. Some people don't even realize they're doing it."

Sam watched him intently. _Play the good student Sam, play the good student_. He suddenly realized how challenging it was going to be to fool the head doctor. He shrugged mentally. He'd done it before, he could do it again. Then again, he hadn't tried to _kill himself_ the first time round.

"What I'd like to know is why _you_ felt the need to do it."

Sam shrugged, his mind whirling for excuses. "I guess… I just… there was a lot of pressure."

"Pressure from what?"

Sam shrugged again, looking down at his wrists, running a thumb over them. "At school." He swallowed and put on a forlorn expression. He wanted to laugh at how well he knew how to play this game, but then he bitterly realized how close to the truth it all really was.

"What kind of pressure are you feeling from school?"

Sam sniffed, keeping his head bowed. "To do good… I just… I don't want to fail."

"And do you feel like you're failing?"

"Sometimes," he said softly, lifting his eyes. Doctor Reidisser smiled kindly at him with an encouraging nod.

"It's okay to feel that way. We'll work through that." The doctor shifted forward in the chair. "What I need to know is how you feel right now."

Sam squinted as if in thought. "I don't know. I guess… confused… out of place."

The doctor nodded again. "That's perfectly natural; and completely expected when you wake up in an unfamiliar environment. Are you feeling any of the pressure you felt from last night?"

Sam paused a moment, at least giving the pretense he was giving it some thought. "No," he shook his head. "Not really."

"Okay, that's good." The doctor pulled a pen from his shirt and started scribbling on the chart as he rose. "We're going to go ahead and keep the restraints off then for now; let you walk around bit, get familiar with the floor and other residents. But Sam." The doctor stopped writing and looked intently at the younger man, making certain he had his full attention. "I need you to be honest with yourself and with me; if you start feeling pressure like you did last night, I want you to let either me or a nurse know okay?"

Sam gave a small nod, trying to convey understanding.

"We're here to help you get through this Sam, not hinder you. Okay?"

"Okay," he answered softly; fingers brushing lightly over the stitches.

"Good. I'll ask Brenda to come re-wrap those," The doctor pointed at his damaged wrists, "and give you the tour of the floor; but if you need anything Sam, anything at all, just ask."

"Thank you," he responded politely. The doctor smiled and left the room. Sam liked him. If anything, he'd given Sam the freedom to walk around again. Then again, that was probably part of the doc's strategy; be the savior that releases the restraints to gain trust from the inflicted and hope they'll confide in him easier. _Clever._

Sam slipped from the bed, rubbing sore muscles. He stood in the middle of his room, brightly lit with thick, plastic windows and took in his meager surroundings. It looked like your typical hospital room only more… empty. He had a bathroom, sink and shower. A small bag of toiletries sat on the sink counter. He noticed the lack of anything sharp; no shaving then.

Other than that, he had a bed and the little desk built into the wall and the chair. A notebook sat on top of the desk, but there was no pen or pencil next to it. Guess he had to ask for it. Another mind game; starting small with learning to ask for little things and working up to big Kahuna, learning to ask for help. Sam snorted.

* * *

"This is the communal area; you can watch TV, read a book; there's a chess set in the corner too." Brenda, Sam's tour guide gestured toward the brightly lit room with a smile. Sam got a good look at a few of the current occupants. A stab of fear shot through him; he didn't belong here.

"I need my meds."

Sam's head whipped around to find a middle-aged man with bald patches scattering his head amongst his scraggly hair. The man was slightly rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Chester, this is Sam; he's a new resident." Brenda introduced with another smile. Sam was really beginning to hate the word_ resident_; as if it meant anything but crazy lunatic.

"My meds. It's time for my meds." The disturbed man ignored Sam, though he was fairly certain it wasn't intentional, the man just didn't notice him at all he seemed so focused.

"I know it is," Brenda said complacently, never losing her cool. "The pharmacy opened a little late today. Ben will be around with your medications in about ten minutes, okay?"

"But it's time. I- I take them now." The agitated man started yanking on a strand of hair. Sam realized where his bald patches came from.

"I know sweetie." Brenda reached forward, gently pulling his hand down. "They're coming, I promise."

"My meds…" Chester went to a corner and continued his rocking and mumbling.

Sam watched him a moment more. This is where his parents thought he belonged? What if they realized they were better off with out him and left him here? He wondered how many patients came in here semi-depressed and ended up like Chester. And now, taking in the other patients mumbling to themselves, drooling, rocking in corners, looking nearly comatose… Sam was sufficiently freaking out. He didn't belong here. _Who the hell thought he belonged here_?!

"Sam?"

Sam jerked around to see Brenda watching him with concern despite the ever-present smile.

"You okay sweetie?"

Sam's stomach turned. She'd called Chester _sweetie_, too. "Y-yeah," he managed to stutter out. He cleared his throat and caught up with her. "Um, sorry. What- what did you say?" _Way to help your case there Sam_, he chastised himself.

"This is the visiting room." She gestured to her right. Another room full of nice chairs, a few tables and a TV in the corner. "After your initial evaluation period you'll be allowed visitors three times a week. Any time from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m."

Sam gave a small nod and swallowed. "Um… what about phone privileges?"

Brenda nodded in return. "Right, you'll also get those after the evaluation period. When you'd like to make a call, just grab a nurse and they'll assist you."

"I sort of have an important call I need to make-"

"I'm sorry Sam." Brenda held her hands up and Sam felt like an incompetent four-year old. "Those are the rules."

Sam lightly scratched as the new bandages on his wrist. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make that son of a bitch creature pay for this. Brenda started chattering on about meals and rules. Sam ignored her; instead he homed in on the visiting room. More importantly, the visiting room with sane people in it… sane people with cell phones.

* * *

"Dean!"

"What?" Dean hollered, yanking out a random piece of metal lodged in the undercarriage of the car above him.

"Phone."

"Take a message." He turned the piece of metal over in his fingers trying to discern it's purpose.

"No can do." His co-worker, Kevin, had dull down to a tee. He didn't care what other people thought and what little he did say was usually laced with flat, biting sarcasm. Even Dean, the boss' kid, wasn't spared the acerbic verbal assaults. It's what made the man Dean's favorite person to work with. They just traded personal insults back and forth all day and it humored Dean to no end.

Unfortunately, Dean was not in a social mood, even if it was Kevin. "Why not?"

"It's the boss."

Dean's sigh morphed into a groan. He stared at the undercarriage of the Miata he was working on, begrudgingly, before sliding out from beneath it with a scowl. "Gutless sissy," he mumbled as he passed his co-worker, slapping the twisted piece of metal into his chest. He walked into the main office and closed the door; fell into the desk chair, wiped his hands on his pants and picked up the phone.

"Hey Dad." Dean leaned back in the chair, ready for a fight. "Cuz I'm on the schedule… Yeah, I know you did… Well I never _asked_ you to call in sick for me. Besides, I'm not sick so there's no reason for me to not be here." Dean said with clear annoyance, digging into tired eyes with his fingers. "Well, maybe I wanna work Dad. Maybe it helps clear my head okay?"

He swiveled around in the chair, facing the big window that let him see into the shop. His eyes snapped to the blue Miata he'd been working on and his bland co-worker writing '_Dean is my bitch'_ in big letters across the side doors with white shoe polish. He snorted and shook his head.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he tuned back in to his father. "I'm not ignoring it," he argued. "I just don't want to deal with it today." _Ever_. "What? No, Dad- don't-" Dean dropped the phone from his ear and stared at the ceiling in frustration. He counted to five before putting the phone back to his ear and spoke in a softer voice. "Hey Mom. …No, I just- …I know you're worried but I'm fine." He cut himself off before pointing out he wasn't the son who'd tried to kill himself last night. His parents didn't need the reminder; and frankly neither did he. Which is why he'd come in to work.

"I know, and I'll sleep when I'm tired. …Mom, please," Dean begged wearily. "I just wanna finish up this car and then I'll go home and get some rest. …Yes, I promise. …Okay, I love you too. Bye."

He dropped the phone into the cradle and rubbed greasy hands over his face. They hadn't heard back from Sam's new doctor yet and the not knowing was making them all a little crazy. Dean had spent the better part of the morning at his apartment reading through and trying to make sense of his brother's journal. Finally he slapped the book shut, completely freaked out and near tears with the implications of his brother's well-being. Sam was so far gone.

After spending the next hour watching Dr. Phil, he sat on his couch and contemplated the pro's and con's of giving Sam's new doctor his journal. Dean didn't want his kid brother in a psyche ward with strangers messing around with his head and shooting him up with drugs. On the flip side, Sam had tried to kill himself. His little brother had slit his own fucking wrists! The journal might give the doctor some clue as to how to help Sam. Or, it might get him locked away for life.

That was unacceptable.

So he stuffed the journal under a couch cushion for later contemplation slash freak-out session. He hid it from site and went to work. He'd been expecting a call from his parents to check up on him, which is why he'd turned his cell phone off. He knew it'd only be a matter of minutes before Dad wised up and tried him at work. He shrugged mentally. They meant well, and they were in their right after the last few days. Hell, after the last ten years. He pushed away from the desk and walked into the shop, heading toward one of the bench tables along the wall where his co-worker was tweaking a carburetor.

Dean gestured to his mystery prize lying next to it. "Anything?"

"Joint latch," Kevin answered with his usual flatness, tossing him the offended piece of metal.

Dean caught it one-handed. "A what?"

"Joint latch. Metal piece on a prosthesis that lets it bend."

Dean blinked, slightly bewildered. "You saying our client ran over some dude with a prosthetic leg?"

Kevin shrugged, unfazed.

Dean squinted at the dull-eyed man. "You're shittin me."

"Nay, I shit you not."

"You think it's worth mentioning?"

"You heard of any missing men with a prosthetic leg?"

"No."

"Then I wouldn't mention it," the man stated with lack-luster.

Dean watched his co-worker another moment. "Do you even know _how_ to change facial expressions?"

Kevin flipped him the bird without turning from his work. Dean smirked; glad he'd made the decision to come in to work.

"Dean."

He turned back with raised eyebrows and a questioning grunt. His co-worker was facing him now, his work forgotten.

"A little advice?"

Dean nodded, though normally he would've said something insulting and run the other way, but the serious look on Kevin's face took him by surprise.

"Don't give up on him… and don't run away from it." Dean watched in stony silence as the man looked down at the dirty rag curling in his hands, struggling with his unusual show of emotion. Kevin swallowed and didn't quite meet Dean's eyes again. "You'll regret it the rest of your life if you do," he muttered lastly before awkwardly turning back to the work table, ending the oddly sentimental moment.

Had Dean had words to say, he wouldn't have said them anyway. Kevin had said his peace and that was that. He knew better than to disrespect their relationship by trying to find out the meaning behind the man's words, the past hurts in them. Instead he turned and walked back to the Miata. By the time he was sliding underneath it again, Kevin had disappeared from the shop. Probably to get some air.

Dean sighed. And as he started replacing the damaged pieces in the car, his friend's words rolled through his head. _Don't give up… don't run… regret_. He nodded at the undercarriage, as if it understood. He had enough regrets already. He wasn't about to let Sam become one more. He slid from beneath the car, grabbed his keys and clocked out. He needed to get some rest and then figure out how to help his brother.

**TBC…**


	14. Chapter 14

**House of Burden**

**By: **Maygin

**Summary:**Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section:** 172 Reviews!! I feel like a freakin star!! Thanks guys and I apologize if I haven't responded to yours! It's not cuz I don't luv ya… it's just been crazy lately :) Here's a nice long chapter for ya! Full of angst and… angst. If it get's to be too much for ya, hang out in the sidelines for a couple chapters and then jump back in when it's all finished and happy is there once again :) Personally – I'm an angst junkie, sowwy. I am super stoked about the Supernatural convention in Chicago this November!! Anyone else going?

**Chapter 14**

"…_new evidence to suggest the possible suspects lived in the same neighborhood as Miller. Police are questioning one family in particular, a young couple that recently moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago. They're not giving out any names right now, but the couple moved here from Columbus, Ohio where police have joined forces with local P.D. to check possible connections between the murders in both areas…"_

Sam almost jumped up from the couch in the common room. He hadn't expected a lead like that to just fall into his lap, but he'd take what he could get. He'd only been here a day and a half and the fear of abandonment would not shut up in his head. His visit with Dr. Reidisser earlier had been brief; a schedule of his upcoming sessions, medications he was to start taking immediately and another look at his wrists. The pills had been huge and no chance of hiding them in his mouth. So he'd sucked it up and swallowed them. And now, an hour later, he didn't feel any different. He was thirsty and a little drowsy but that could be from his recent blood loss.

He climbed over Natasha, a wide-eyed, twitchy, older girl who'd been following him around since Nurse Brenda had let him on his own. She didn't talk, but she loved petting Sam's hair for some reason. He tolerated it for the time being; he didn't want to upset possible allies in his temporary home.

"No, stay," he said firmly, pointing a finger in her face when she made to follow.

Sam casually strolled into the hallway in front of the nurse's station. His eyes swept the area and deemed it clear enough for him to saunter into the visiting room. He slipped inside and made for the couch in front of the TV. An older woman spoke softly to a younger man, probably her son, on the couch facing back to back with his. They ignored him as he feigned interest in the current program on the set.

He spied the woman's purse on the floor at the end of the couches. _Perfect._ He skillfully reached a hand down and felt around for the prize. His finger's ran across the thin object and slipped it out and into his lap.

One cell phone – _check_.

He reached forward, slapped the tv off as if in frustration and exited the room, slipping the phone into the pocket of his scrubs. Nurse Brenda passed him as he made his way toward his room.

"Everything going okay, Sam?"

"Yeah. I just- I'm a little tired. Think I'll take a nap."

"Okay," she smiled cheerfully and went on with her business.

Sam made it to his room and closed the door behind him, leaning against it in relief. He froze a moment, only his head bouncing around, searching; there was a camera somewhere in the room. Someone might be watching him. He found it pretty easily in the left corner of the ceiling. He figured it gave them a good view of the entire room from that angle.

"Damn-it," he whispered.

A sudden thought occurred to him. He walked to his desk and picked up the chair, moving it the left corner of the room, directly beneath the camera, against the walls. He left his room and walked back toward the nurse's station. Another nurse he didn't recognize sat, rifling through a folder stuffed with papers. Sam walked up to the desk and folded his arms on top, waiting, his eyes scanning for the monitors.

"Did you need something sweetie?"

Sam barely kept himself in check. Something very Dean-ish had been threatening to burst out at hearing himself referred to as _sweetie_ once again. Instead he smiled shyly and meekly asked, "I think someone stole my meal schedule. Do you have another one?"

"I sure do. Uhhh, just give me one second to find them." The older woman started rifling through a file cabinet on the floor to her right. Sam took the opportunity to boost himself as far over the counter on his stomach as he could to get a good look at the video monitor. The feed seemed to bounce from camera to camera on its own unless manually changed on the keyboard. Sam dropped back to the floor as the woman sat back up.

"Well, they were there two days ago. I swear, the organizational skills of some people amaze me…" the woman continued grumbling as she sat her file down and rose to look in another file cabinet further away.

Sam swallowed nervously and figured _what the hell_. He hefted himself back onto the counter and reached over to the keyboard, typing in his room number. The video feed changed to his room camera and he got a clear view of his room… sans one desk chair. He hit escape on a whim and the camera feed switched back to random.

"Here we are!" Sam nearly lost his footing as he scrambled back to the floor, the nurse turning back toward him with a menu in hand and a smile on her face. "Try and keep it in your room so you won't lose it again."

Sam accepted the narrow sheet of paper, trying to quell his jitters. He couldn't believe he'd gotten away with that. "Okay," he smiled… sweetly. "Thanks." He didn't bother correcting her that he hadn't actually lost it, someone had stolen it. Then again, it was all a lie anyways, but that didn't stop the irrational bitterness toward the woman for screwing up his diversion. He glared at Charles who eyed his menu as Sam passed by.

He really hated it here.

* * *

"Bobby, I need your help."

Sam could literally feel the older man's muscles tensing over the phone line.

"_What happened_?"

Sam swallowed; he didn't realize until now just how much having the old man to call a lifeline for him; his relief that he wasn't completely alone. "I uh, I had another vision." He pressed himself further into the left corner of the room, beneath the camera, in its blind spot.

"_And_?"

"Well… it kinda happened in front of my brother." Sam hedged, hating that he was burdening himself on the older man. He heard Bobby sigh.

"_How did that go over_?"

"They kinda freaked out."

"_Did you tell them the truth_?"

"They think I had a seizure." Sam informed sheepishly. Bobby snorted and Sam imagined him shaking his head. He covered his other ear with his free hand when a page for Doctor Reidisser came over the speaker system.

"_Where are you_?" Bobby asked curiously, overhearing the page.

It was Sam's turn to sigh. "In the hospital."

"_They still running tests_?"

Sam winced and lowered his head and voice, hiding behind his bangs. "Not exactly."

"_What does that mean_?" Bobby's voice filled with suspicion again.

Sam ran a tired hand over his face, mindful of the bruising along the right side. "I'm in the psych ward… my parents admitted me-"

Sam was cut off by the older man's hissed expletives. Another few moments of silence filled the line before Sam spoke up again, his voice quiet and defeated.

"It's not their fault, Bobby. They were worried."

"_How long are you in there for_?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, "but that's why I called. Have you seen the news reports on the recent murders here?"

"_I noticed it this morning, I was gonna call you about it_."

Sam nodded. "My vision was of the latest victim."

"_The old woman_?"

Sam nodded, glancing at the camera above him. "Yeah, Bonnie Miller. I went to try and save her but…" Sam shook his head. "The thing nearly killed me."

"_It's okay Sam_," Bobby reassured.

"No it's not," Sam argued; he didn't want absolution. A woman was dead because he hadn't been prepared.

"_You can't save everyone son_." Sam briefly wondered if the older man even realized what he'd called him. "_And unfortunately in our line of work people _have_ to die before we can do anything_."

"Then what good are the visions?" Sam bit off, his eyes jumping to his closed door as shuffling feet passed by outside. Sam lowered his voice again. "What good does it do me to see the future if I can't stop it?"

"_We don't know _what_ these visions are yet_," Bobby calmly yet firmly reminded him. "_So until we do, let's stick with what we _do_ know_."

Sam sighed over a feminine wailing sound coming from down the hall. "I saw a news report this morning; there's a couple that moved here a few weeks back when the murders started again. Coincidentally they were in Columbus before here which is where the other murders took place."

"_That's a pretty big coincidence_."

"Yeah."

"_So you're thinking this creature or whatever is connected to this couple somehow_?"

Sam shrugged and switched ears with the phone. "I really don't have much else to go on and I'm kinda limited right now to my researching abilities."

Another pause filled the line; thoughts racing around.

"_You said you saw it though right_?"

"Sort of, it-" Sam sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't really remember all that much, it happened so fast."

"_Alright, what _can_ you remember_?" Bobby asked calmly.

Sam shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Uh… it was big." Sam berated himself. Was that seriously the best he could do? Fat lot of good he was being a hunter if all he could get out was '_it was big'_. "Claws… it had big claws- sharp." Sam nodded to himself as more came back to him. "And I think maybe it had wings."

"_Okay, anything else_?"

"Its eyes glowed blue… and it kinda sounded like a raptor."

"_Like a what_?" Bobby asked, thoroughly confused.

"A raptor… like from Jurassic Park?" Sam finished sheepishly.

"_Is that a zoo or something_?"

Sam hedged a moment not sure if it was appropriate for him to smile at the older man's expense. "Sort of."

"_Sort of_-"

"It's not important. Look the thing was big and strong and it moved really fast. I've never seen anything like it."

"_Alright_," Bobby sighed. "_I'll see what I can dig up_."

"Thanks. I'm gonna visit the couple tomorrow, see if maybe they'll talk to me."

"_And how do you plan on managing that one_?" Bobby asked flatly, though Sam could hear the smirk on his lips.

Sam grinned himself, remembering the nurses and the badges hanging from clips on their shirt pockets. "I'll manage."

"_Sam._" Bobby's tone caught his attention again; there was serious note of caution and concern in it. "_Be careful_."

"I will," Sam promised and then snapped the phone shut.

* * *

He was her friend. He'd said so. She didn't have very many friends. Elisa was okay, but Chester was always taking her things. He'd taken Boomer, her stuffed lion and long-time friend. The nurses still couldn't find Boomer. Not that they hadn't put forth a grand effort; Lord knows she gave them good reason to. She'd had quite the conniption fit when she'd discovered Boomer missing. She didn't see Chester take him, but Natasha wasn't stupid.

So her best friend in the whole world was gone.

Then Sam came and he was nice and had nice hair like Boomer's fur. He wasn't weird like the others though. He was more like a normal person. He seemed sad. Like she had felt when she'd lost Boomer. It's why she'd followed him around, to make him feel _not_ sad. The doctor told her it was okay to feel sad, but Natasha didn't want Sam to be sad. She wanted him to be happy, like she and Boomer had been.

So when Sam had asked her to help him, she'd been very happy. It had taken her a few times to remember what she was supposed to do; Sam had to repeat it several times until she got it right. Sometimes she got distracted. Her Sam was nice and he was pretty and sometimes she just wanted to snuggle him when he looked at her, like he was looking at her now…

"Oh," she said excitedly, realizing Sam was giving her '_the signal'_. She immediately started wailing and crying, just like her Sam had asked. And just like Sam had said, Nurse Brenda came to assist her. Sam was so smart. He was walking toward her now. That meant something. She was supposed to do someth-

_oh that's right._

"No!" she screamed and started flailing her arms and throwing herself about. Nurse Brenda called for some help behind her, but Sam was right there, stepping in and offering a hand. She saw him look at her again with his pretty green eyes and a small nod. She was very proud of herself for remembering. Sam was right, Nurse Brenda tried to stop her from falling and all three of them went down in a tangle.

She wanted to smile and laugh; she'd done good, but she was supposed to make more noise and flop around. She'd thought she saw Sam's hand slip across Nurse Brenda's shirt, but she wasn't certain. She did however see him slide something into his pants pocket. He gave her a sudden wide-eyed look and she realized she'd stopped crying. _Ooops_. She immediately started sobbing and wailing again.

"It's okay Sam. I got her."

Her Sam gave Nurse Brenda a cute look and she wanted to giggle because Nurse Brenda thought they were serious. She didn't giggle though, her job was to cry, not giggle. Nurse Karen came to help and she glanced up at her Sam. He gave her a grin and a wink and then backed away, headed toward the doors she could never get through. She ducked her head into Nurse Brenda's chest and sobbed through a smile.

They did it… her and Sam. Natasha made a promise to herself to keep an eye on her Sam; she didn't want Chester to steal him away too.

* * *

Sam stepped off the bus, sending a wave to the kind man still on board that had loaned him a dollar for the bus fare since he'd '_lost his wallet'_. He hated lying to people, and he hated that he'd stolen Brenda's security badge. He hoped the kind nurse didn't get in trouble for it, but he had no choice. And what a good little actress Natasha had turned out to be… when she was paying attention.

First thing was first; he needed a change of clothes. The nurse's scrubs he'd borrowed wouldn't get him very far. Not to mention, he'd had to do some creative hiding of the bandages over his wrists. He'd definitely need a long sleeve shirt and a few other supplies which meant… he had to go home.

He stood at the edge of his neighborhood for a minute, just staring. He figured they were probably home. It had been a pretty crappy week so far and he knew they had to be exhausted and worried sick. He knew he was. He had no idea what he was going to do once the creature was dead. Go back to the hospital and feign a miraculous recovery, go home and hope they don't send him back… or pack up and leave town altogether.

He really hated the last one, hated it something fierce. He loved his family more than life, and he knew they felt the same of him.

He shook his head, clearing the unhappy thoughts away along with the drowsiness he kept feeling. He assumed it was from the pills he was forced to take. It had started small, but he was feeling it a lot more now. He needed to move, it wouldn't be long before the hospital figured out he was AWOL. They'd suspect his house as his first target, and they'd be right, but not for refuge like they probably thought. He just needed a few essential items and then he'd be on his way to finishing this job.

He scaled a back fence and from there, tried to be as invisible as one could be in broad daylight. Finding his own backyard, he waited, hunched behind some bushes, watching. There didn't seem to be much movement inside.

Sam slowly made his way to his tree, one last glance through the first floor windows, and then he was shimmying his way up. He was grateful for the routine of it; he wasn't exactly feeling his best. His head hurt, his wrists were throbbing and itching, he was exhausted and those drugs were making him dizzy and nauseous.

He leaned forward and pulled up on his window; it gave and Sam slid it open with ease. He quietly stumbled through the opening and waited a minute, listening for any signs that he'd been discovered.

Silence.

He went straight for the closet and grabbed an old backpack, stuffing clothes into the big pocket. He quickly changed out of the nurse's scrubs and pulled a small wooden box from the very back of a dresser drawer. Opening it, he sorted through a mess of cards, paper and plastic, and even a few slightly illegal badges. He pulled one particular ID out and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. Closing the lid, he stowed the box into his pack.

Sam knelt on the floor next to his bed, stuffed his hand beneath the top mattress and frowned. He pulled the entire corner of the mattress up and sat back on his heels. It was gone. His old journal was gone. The newer one was with the backpack he'd taken to Bonnie Miller's house, wherever the hell that was now. Obviously the police didn't have it or he'd be in cuffs by now. But… his forehead smoothed out. What if his parents had found it? He should've known they'd go searching through his room after yesterday.

He dropped the corner of the bed. "Damnit," he blew out on exhale. That journal had everything; all his dreams, his visions, his encounters and cases, his tips of the trade. It even had a few pages full of personal confessions concerning his family, written in moments of frustration. He ran a hand through his hair and stood. He'd have to worry about it later. Right now he needed to-

Sam froze.

The phone down the hallway in his parent's room started ringing. The ringing stopped suddenly and he could hear muffled voices, first surprise and then anger; that was his father. He figured the hospital just figured out he had escaped.

_Time to go_.

He stuffed a few more odds and ends into his old back pack and was just pulling his arms through the straps when he heard something distinctly sounding like a phone being dropped on wood. His eyes widened as his parent's bedroom door suddenly opened and he heard rushed footsteps coming down the hall. Sam leapt across his room and turned the lock on his door just as the handle tried to turn. Pounding on the wood sounded immediately after and Sam knew he was out of time.

"Sam?! Sammy, open the door!"

"Sammy, please open the door sweetie."

He ignored the voices of his frantic parents as he crawled out of his window and onto his tree. He heard a key scratching against metal and suddenly his door was open and his parents were standing at his window pleading with him to _come back inside_ and to _be careful _and _what the hell was he doing_?

When his feet touched ground, he looked up and saw only his mother in his window, watching him with tears on her cheeks. He felt his own throat swell up with emotion.

"I'm sorry," he said as he backed away. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"I know baby- just… come back inside. Please."

Sam wanted to, more than anything. But suddenly the back door was slamming open and his father was barreling through it.

Sam bolted.

They'd never believe him now. He'd let things get too messy and now he was their _crazy son_. He ran and ran until he couldn't hear his father following and calling after him anymore. Then he hopped on a bus and headed toward Deerfield Park.

**TBC…**


	15. Chapter 15

**House of Burden**

**By: **Maygin

**Summary:**Within its walls lives a family that has never been touched by hate, fire or the Supernatural… but for one.

**The Blah-blah Section:** IT'S OFFICIALLY FALL!!!! YAY!! Sorry… I'm just loving this cold weather so stinkin much! I don't know why but whenever the cool weather rolls in, I feel like a new woman! Chapter 15 folks. Can you believe it? I can't. I know I'm always putting a thank you out there for the reviews so in light of the change in weather, I'll change up my TY's a little. Thank you for sticking with it! …hows that? ;) I know it's been a little painful for some of you w/ Sam's situation, and it's about to get a little worse. However here's a minor spoiler for you **SPOILER WARNING**… the tide turns in the next chapter and you finally get what you've all been waiting for from there on out :D Can I even begin to say how excited I am that we're finally at that point?!?! YEEEEEEE!! Sorry, I'm a moron. Enjoy.

**Chapter 15**

"Well isn't that a coincidence?" Sam stood at the edge of Deerfield Lane and Glenview Drive. He looked down Glenview and spotted Bonnie Miller's house, and then turned back toward Deerfield, seeing the Stanton's house. It hadn't taken much more than a phone call to the local realty agent to find out who the most recent move-in's were.

The Stanton's were a young couple recently moved from Ohio for reasons unknown, however Sam was fairly certain he knew what those unknowns consisted of. He just wasn't certain if it was the Stanton's controlling the monster, something attached to the Stanton's, or possibly even one of the Stanton's themselves.

He pulled the ID card from his pocket, double-checking it was the right one and then made his way down Deerfield Lane.

Sam took a deep breath, smoothed down any stray hairs, tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves, making certain the bandages were hidden, and leaned on the doorbell. A minute later a ruddy-faced, petit woman appeared behind the glass next to the door. Sam couldn't make out her expression behind the decorated glass, but he could clearly see her tense posture.

"Can I help you?"

He had to commend her on her politeness. He imagined she was being bombarded with calls and visits from law enforcement and nosey reporters with too much access to confidential information.

"Mrs. Stanton, my name is Jeremy Miller. I'm with the MSNBC-"

"Go away," the woman spat out angrily and turned to leave.

"Mrs. Stanton, wait! Please. I want to help you," Sam called desperately through the doorway. Hope spurred when the woman paused. "I know you're probably sick of all the attention and accusations; but I promise you, I'm not here for a story."

The door clicked and opened a fraction, revealing an exhausted face with red eyes and dark circles. "You're from a major news network and you're not here for a story?" her voice was clearly skeptical.

Sam looked straight into her tired eyes and turned on the sympathy; it was a gift and he knew it. "Myself and a few others at work believe there's something else going on here." He tilted his head to the side. "Technically, yes, I'll have to produce a story out of this but-"

He held up a hand to stall her shutting the door in his face. "_But_, that wasn't my reason for coming here. I believe you and your husband are innocent. And I convinced my boss to let me come here on the condition that I provide enough evidence to roll out a story. If I can come up with this evidence, you and your husband will no longer be suspects and you'll be free to get on with your lives." Sam paused, giving her a moment to think it through. "All I'm asking is that you help me prove your innocence."

"I thought that was the police's job?"

Sam smirked. "The police don't have the connections I do. And they have a rule book they have to go by. Please… Mrs. Stanton, five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

The woman considered him another moment. Sam could see she wanted to trust him, wanted him to help her and her husband. "Do you have any ID?"

"Of course." Sam smiled and slipped the fake ID from his back pocket, letting her give it a good once over. Most people had no idea what companies used what kind of ID's, they just wanted something substantial, something they could see.

"You're a little young to be a news investigator aren't you?"

Sam smirked, giving the impression he appreciated her insightfulness. "I'm an intern." He hurried to assuage her suddenly doubtful expression. "They don't send the high and mighty on second-string theories. My boss considers this bush-league, however if I can get the evidence, you'll be free and MSNBC will have their story…_ but,_ you guys come first." Sam inserted his sincerity and waited.

The woman looked him over again and then gave a small nod. The front door opened wider and Sam found himself being led inside. The house was nicely furnished, all rich furniture and decorations. He couldn't help but feel the actual home itself seemed a little sober compared to the antiquities the Stanton's obviously brought with them when they moved in. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you," the young woman responded politely as she led him into the living room. The entire back wall was made up of windows, allowing natural light to flood the room and the lush décor inside it. "Brett's in the stock market and has a thing for art and antiques. Hence all the uh… stuff." The woman laughed slightly, though there was hardly any humor to it. "He knows what they all are; I couldn't tell you a thing about them."

Sam nodded as his eyes traveled over and catalogued all the potential items in the one room alone. "Looks like you could almost open a museum yourselves."

The woman smiled and sat down on one of the plush couches, gesturing for him to do the same in a chair opposite. "That's what my father keeps telling us."

Sam sat and gave her his full attention, turning up the empathy. "How's your family taking this?"

The woman drew in a slow breath, considering her answer for a moment. "Not well. They're flying in tomorrow to stay with me." She swallowed. "It's just… it's been really hard with Brett in custody right now."

"Any idea why they suspect him over you?"

"I've had _reliable_ alibis for two of the… murders." The woman's voice strained slightly on the last word.

"But Brett… half the time he works from home, out of his office in the den."

Sam gave a nod of understanding. "He wouldn't have an alibi."

"No. But I know he didn't do it. I know him."

"I believe you," Sam assured. "We just have to convince the rest of the world." The woman nodded at him, shifted on the couch and Sam could see he'd just won her complete cooperation, her trust. "Mrs. Stanton-"

"Kelli."

He smiled kindly. "Kelli, can you tell me why you moved here from Columbus?"

"Isn't it obvious?" A few tears leaked down her cheeks. "To get away. I mean… two horrific murders happened in our neighborhood. I didn't feel safe- I just… I had to get away from there." Sam could see Kelli trying to swallow down the emotions, but her voice still shook. "I knew those people… the ones that were killed. I knew them," she finished with a horrified whisper.

Sam nodded solemnly. "Did you know the recent victims here in Lawrence?"

More tears escaped down her cheeks as she pressed her lips together. "Not directly, no."

"What do you mean?"

"The uh… the first one…"

"Sandra Miller."

"She was our mailman."

"Andrew Brightman?"

Kelli's face screwed up with emotion, a hand covering her mouth as she sucked in a shaky breath. "He was an old college friend of Brett's. He lives just outside of Lawrence and he came by to visit."

"What about Matthew Carey?"

"I had no idea who he was, but the police showed us a picture of him and Brett said the kid delivered a pizza here one night when I was out."

Sam was getting the picture. Something was definitely connected to the Stanton's. He wasn't ruling out the possibility that it was the husband, but he liked to think he was pretty good at reading people, and it was obvious Kelli loved her husband very much. More than anything he wanted this woman's husband to be innocent, for her sake. He nodded sympathetically.

"God, he was just a kid." Kelli whispered as more tears escaped. "Who would do that?"

Sam didn't have an answer for her… yet. "What about Bonnie Miller?" He asked quietly.

Kelli's eyes slipped closed and she ran a hand through her tangled hair. "She uh… she came by the other day. Dropped off a plate of cookies… welcoming us to the neighborhood."

Sam sighed inwardly; he couldn't imagine having that kind of burden on him. Scratch that, he could. In a way, with all the visions about his yellow-eyed demon, he couldn't help but feel like he was somehow endangering those around him. He shook the thoughts from his head.

"What about the first victim, Marcus Tatum?"

Kelli shrugged indifferently. "We thought it was a fluke. Bad karma, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, apparently he was criminal." She shook her head. "I wake up one morning to see a news report about a robber whose head had been ripped off. The guy was bad news and got what was coming to him, ya know? Now I'm being told they think his death was connected with the others… it just doesn't make any sense."

"So Tatum was the first?"

"I guess."

"Have you heard any strange noises or witnessed anything unusual before the murders?"

Kelli swallowed, her eyes jumping around as if in thought. "I don't think so."

"Do you have any enemies?" He tried to keep his voice kind and sympathetic but it was difficult when essentially asking the victim if they had anyone who hated them enough to want to torture them with hideous murders of those around them.

"No," she said helplessly. "We're nice people."

"Okay," he said, trying to calm her a bit. His eyes skimmed over the many artifacts and decorations surrounding them. "Kelli…" he hesitated a bit. "Do you know if any of your family or friends are into… occult type things?"

The woman was slightly taken aback by the question and Sam feared he'd overstepped the boundaries. "You- …you mean like… devil worshipping?"

"Sort of… or just- dark magic, voodoo; things like that."

"I don't think so. Why? Do you think this is some kind of- sick, ritual or something?"

"I don't know." Sam answered honestly. "I just want to make sure we cover all the bases."

"Oh my God," Kelli leaned forward, resting her head in her hand. "This is unbelievable."

Sam licked his lips and let his gaze travel around the room while the woman tried to compose herself some. Sam had no idea where to start. All the pieces looked old and historical and it would take him forever to track down the history on each one. And that was just in the living room. He sighed inwardly and let his eyes focus outside, through the windows. Several more, larger pieces sat, carefully placed in the back yard. Sam's attention paused on one particular item.

A statue. A crouched statue at the edge of the stone walkway.

"I can't believe this is happening again. Why us?"

"I'm going to figure that out. If you could do me just one favor though, if you could not tell the police about me? If they know I'm investigating this, they'll put tabs on me and generally get in the wa-"

"I trust you Jeremy." Sam was almost floored with the honest trust in the woman's eyes. Floored and scared to death that he really was their only hope at a normal life. "Please… I just want this to be over with."

Sam nodded with equal sincerity. "Me too," he whispered to himself. He sat up straighter and gestured behind her. "Kelli, do you mind if I take a look around outside? See if I can find any clues or something?"

"No, of course not. Please, look around all you want."

Sam smiled kindly again and made his way out the back door. He passed a couple other statues and a totem pole before stopping at the end of the path where an old, stone gargoyle sat upon a short pedestal. It looked small and non-threatening, only reaching up to about his hips. The wings were tucked around the body and the face was slightly creepy; jaw open, baring fangs and an expression that promised death should one venture too near. It was your typical gargoyle, only this one looked truly antique.

"It's hideous isn't it?" Sam startled slightly, he hadn't realized Kelli had followed him out. She walked up next to the statue and rested a hand on its head, between its two pointed ears. "Always creeped me out, but Brett loves it. Paid _a lot _for it too."

"Do you know where it's from?"

Kelli's head shook. "No. Some old cathedral overseas that they tore down a long time ago. Brett could tell you." Sam ran his eyes over the aged stone where patches of green and weathering had set in. "Why?" Kelli's voice didn't sound suspicious, just honest curiosity.

Sam's eyes lifted to hers. He shrugged. "My uncle used to collect gargoyles."

"Sounds like he and Brett would've gotten along pretty well."

"When did you guys get this?" he asked non-chalantly as his eyes inspected where the statue sat on the pedestal.

"Oh we've had it for years. I call it Stella," she looked up with a sly smirk on her tired face, "after my mother-in-law."

Sam snorted and stood, shaking his head. "Sounds like you're making the best of it."

"What more can a girl do, right?"

The tone of her voice made him pause; he knew she was speaking of more than just the hideous statue in her yard. There wasn't much he could offer her at the moment that she probably hadn't heard already, so he politely said his goodbye with a promise to call soon.

Sam booked it down the sidewalk to the nearest bus stop and made his way to the library. Just inside the building in a small corridor where the restrooms were, was a payphone that Sam made a beeline for. He fished out a few quarters and shoved them in, dialing by memory.

"Bobby, it's me."

"What's up?"

"What do you know about gargoyles?"

"_Gargoyles_?"

"Yeah. I know it sounds stupid but the Stanton's have one in their back yard an-"

"It's not stupid, kid. There's a lot of lore on them. But most of it's old. No one I know has dealt with one; assuming they're real."

"Right," Sam sighed.

"You think that's what you're dealing with?"

"I don't know." Sam rested a hand on the payphone box, casting a careful eye on the people passing by. "To be honest Bobby, it could be anything. That house is like a freaking museum. There are literally hundreds of old artifacts and antiques that could be linked to something evil in there."

"But you found the gargoyle interesting enough to focus on?'

Sam felt even more stupid and like a first-handed rookie in comparison to the man on the other end of the line. "I just- …I don't know. I-" Sam sighed with frustration.

"Sam." Bobby sounded down and matter of fact. "I'm not gonna lie to you and say that you're a normal teenager. Aside from the hunting, these visions you have… we don't know what they mean yet, other than they're all somehow connected to this yellow-eyed demon. But if they're giving you some kind of an edge, then I'd sure as hell take it." The man paused on the line, and Sam couldn't have been more focused on his words if he tried. "If your instincts are telling you to focus on the gargoyle, then we focus on the gargoyle."

"I'm at the library."

"Good, see what you can dig up and I'll look through my books okay? Call me in an hour."

"Okay." Sam hung up the phone and tried to slip past the check-out desk inside without being seen. The ladies there knew him by name. He'd hate to think they were on guard, keeping an eye out for him too, but he couldn't be too careful. Not when lives depended on it.

An hour later Sam was shoving another few quarters into the pay phone. He didn't even get a word in before Bobby was picking up and talking.

"Well I don't know about you, but I found a lot of information."

"Same here."

"What'd you find?"

Sam held up a notepad with scribbled notes all over; referencing it, despite committing most of it to memory anyways. "Gargoyles first showed up in 13th Century France, used as downspouts, a gutter so to speak. However no two gargoyles were ever made alike. No one knew why and some speculated that they were actually around much longer than first recorded. A few remains have been found on ruined cathedrals that looked like possible gargoyles, but never proven. But the carbon dating on them goes way back before 13th century." Sam took a breath. "I did find one myth about them floating around that sounded a little interesting."

"What's that?"

"Well, apparently there's an old folktale about a priest who traveled to a pagan village full of grotesque, stone idols. The villagers rebuked him though, and eventually killed him. Story goes, with his dying breath, he told the pagans he'd purchased their evils for good with his blood. That night, the idols came alive and killed all the pagans. Other priests who came looking for their fellow brother found the village and realized what had happened. They took the statues back with them and placed them on their churches as protectors, guardians of the grounds; keeping away evil and spirits." Sam drew in another breath, not even looking at his notepad anymore. "They were renamed an old French word, Gargouille, meaning, the sound produced when water passes through the throat and mixes with air. Or as we're more familiar with, the sound made when Demon's leave a host… up the throat and through the mouth."

"That's pretty much what I got from my books. Where'd you find your information?"

"Uh, Google."

"What?"

"It's a database. A very large- database."

"Well did your _Google_ happen to mention how to kill it?"

"No, it didn't."

"Well, mine did. Decapitation is one way."

"Yeah, but Bobby I fought this thing. It's big, it's strong and so fast I barely even got any shots off on it before it was all over me."

"Which is why I'm thinking we go with the second way."

"And what is that?"

"Gargoyles are holy creatures, originally intended for good."

"Sooo, what… a binding spell?"

"A binding spell." Bobby confirmed.

"But it's corporeal. What do we do with it once it's bound? It's not like we can just exorcise it."

"After we bind it, we decapitate it. It'll be a lot easier when it's confined to a small space."

"Oh." Sam said simply. It all sounded so easy. "Do you have a binding spell?"

"I'm referencing through some right now."

"Bobby…" Sam hesitated, pressing his shoulder into the wall. "Should we really be killing this thing?"

"What?" Bobby sounded incredulous.

"I'm just saying…" Sam fought for words where all he had were feelings. "This thing is a protector right? I mean, it fights evil."

"Well this one's been fighting a lot more than just evil. Innocent people have died."

"Yeah, but what if something's wrong? What if someone triggered something-"

"Son, listen to me. Gargoyles are ancient creatures. They were created with a sinful purpose, and later made into holy protectors. But that was _hundreds_ of years ago. Now I'm not saying they aren't still good creatures; but as time has gone by, so has humanities need for them."

"You think we don't need guardians against evil?"

"No, I do. But there are very few of us out there in the world that do. Gargoyles are a thing of the past. This one is existing in a time that no longer has a need for it. And useless magic can get twisted, and turned around; even good magic."

"I'm telling you Bobby, this thing isn't evil. Someone had to have done something to it."

"Sam, I don't care if someone broke off one of its fingers… it's killed eight people already, maybe more. You can't tell me that eighty-year old woman did anything to it that deserved her heart being ripped out."

Sam sighed. "I know."

"All the victims have been good, upstanding citizens except for that first guy-"

"I know!" Sam bit off a bit louder. He didn't need to be reminded of the victims; he already had their faces, what was left of them, burnt into his memory.

Bobby sighed, his voice coming through a bit softer. "Look, I know you wanna help this thing… but sometimes being a hunter means doing things because we have to, not because we want to." Bobby paused a moment. "We've gotta put it down Sam. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is."

Sam closed his eyes and nodded, forgetting Bobby couldn't see it over the phone. "You're right."

Bobby sighed. The kid was right, and damned thorough in his research; the gargoyle wasn't evil, it was just doing its job. It was protecting its keep. Unfortunately, it was a magnificent creature out of it's time, in a world that brooked no room for its presence or stature.

"I think it was the thief." Sam's soft, somber voice broke his thoughts.

"What?"

Sam rubbed his fingers into his eyes. "I did a little more research into the murders. The first victim… he was a noted criminal; with four counts of breaking and entering. He was a thief and I'm willing to bet he was breaking into the Stanton's house the night the gargoyle killed him."

Bobby understood suddenly. "And that set the gargoyle into defense mode. Anyone that stepped onto the property was immediately assumed an enemy."

"Hunted down and killed." Sam wasn't beyond seeing the irony. "All except the Stanton's who are completely oblivious to what they've got."

Bobby sighed through his nose. "I'll call Joshua tonight and see if he can meet me there."

"Bobby…"

Bobby paused, noting the hesitation in the younger mans voice. "What?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"I uh… I talked to the Stanton's."

"Yeah, I know, and?"

"I talked to the Stanton's… in their house."

It still took another second for it to click, but when it did Bobby felt the blood drain from his head. He ran a hand over his mouth and tried to swallow, though his throat felt suddenly dry. "Ho boy."

"Yeah." And Sam actually sounded apologetic, which just pissed Bobby off even more. The kid had a tendency to feel guilty about every damn thing that crossed his path.

"Alright look, even if I left right now I still wouldn't get there until tomorrow morning… Joshua too."

"I know." And Sam really did sound like he knew. Like he knew just how much danger he and anyone around him were in. For the umpteenth time Bobby wished the kid wasn't alone in this.

"I'll call Joshua and we'll leave as soon as we can." Bobby's hand tightened around the phone. "And Sam? Try and find a church… if this thing still holds true to its original purpose, it shouldn't be able to kill you on holy ground."

"Theoretically."

Bobby shrugged. "At this point I'd say it's your best shot for tonight, until we get there."

"If anything it'll at least keep it away from my family."

"Be careful Sam."

"I will. Thank you Bobby."

Sam replaced the phone in its cradle and leaned heavily against the wall, fingering the bandages around his wrists, beneath his jacket. Bobby was right, but he couldn't help but feel like he was taking out one of the good guys. He drew in a deep breath and rolled his head to the left. He frowned slightly as he caught one of the librarians eyeing him warily. The air suddenly caught in his lungs and his head swiveled to his right, just in time to see a cop car come to a screeching stop in front of the library entrance.

He didn't think. He just ran.

He ran back into the library, through the books on tape section and down the stairs, hoping there wasn't a cop guarding the back door. He could hear the cop behind him calling his name and ordering him to stop, along with a few startled screams from patrons. Sam bolted down the hallway and practically threw himself through the door. The back lot was clear and Sam took the opportunity to run like hell.

Sam was just about to cross into a forested area when he saw blue and red lights in his peripheral. _Crap! _Now more than one cop was in on the chase. He couldn't go back to the hospital. Now more than ever. The gargoyle would be coming for him and in the midst of all those people, there was bound to be a lot of innocent blood spilled. He needed to find a church, but first he needed to lose his tail.

So he ran, twisted and turned and doubled back. He wasn't even paying attention to where he was running, so he was a little surprised when he found himself running across a parking lot, inside a building and up two flights of stairs. He came to a sudden, jarring stop when he reached the top and found himself at a door. He tried to swallow down his harsh breathing and hammering heart as he felt a trickle of sweat drip down his forehead.

A siren passed down the street and he turned back toward the stairs, but the door behind him suddenly opened loudly. He jerked back around in surprise and lost his footing, tipping backwards toward the unforgiving stairs. He barely fell a step before hands were gripping at him, keeping him from falling any further. Only his head whip-lashed into the side, metal railing, leaving an uncomfortable ringing in his head as he relaxed in the arms of his rescuer.

Familiar arms. Though larger and stronger now, the hold was familiar from countless days and nights spent crying in them.

"Sam?!" He knew that voice too. "Sammy?"

The arms pulled at him until he was safely sitting on the top landing.

"Open your eyes kiddo."

He hadn't realized his eyes were closed; he just wanted the spinning and ringing in his head to stop. He blinked a few times until they were fully opened and the hallway was in complete focus.

"Sammy?"

He lifted his eyes and connected the familiarity, all of it. "Dean?"

"What the hell are you doin here?"

"I- I don't know… they were chasing me and-"

"Okay, it's okay. Come on, let's get you inside."

Sam was honestly confused. He'd never been to his brother's apartment. He knew the address, sure, but he'd never actually been here much less been on the same street. Why he'd unconsciously ran here was beyond him, but he let himself be pulled to his feet and into Dean's sparse apartment. He didn't know why, as he looked around while being led toward the couch, but he'd always imagined his brother's living quarters would have a more bachelor pad look to it. Not that it wasn't a nice apartment; it just looked like it was missing something.

"Sit down before you fall down."

Dean's voice was a little harsh and brought Sam's attention back to him as he was basically shoved onto leather couch. "What's wrong?"

Dean's jaw opened slightly, taken aback. "_What's wrong_?? I get a call from mom and dad saying you've flown the coop after you tried to kill yourself and suddenly you're showing up at my door, nearly taking a nose-dive down the stairs and killing yourself again!"

"Well- technically, I can't kill myself _again_. You can only kill yourself once." Sam really had no idea what was coming out of his mouth.

"Holy freakin crap Sam! There really is something wrong with you."

Sam ran a hand over his head, trying to push away the fuzzy thoughts. "I didn't try to kill myself, Dean."

"Is that right? So you were just taking a shower fully clothed when your wrists suddenly split apart? And what about the concussion, huh? And while we're on it, where the hell is the knife you used to do it?" Dean had started out sarcastic, but the timbre had quickly changed to anger, anger that wasn't helping Sam's headache. Neither were the sirens that blared outside the building.

"It's complicated alright? Look- Dean, please, I just need a place to hide out until the police leave-"

"Are you out of your freakin mind?! The whole reason we put you in there in the first place was to get you help! Not so you could commit identity theft and go on the run from the cops!"

"Dean, please… I'm begging you."

"Damnit Sam! If you didn't try to kill yourself, then what the hell happened?!" Footsteps sounded in the hallway downstairs.

"I can't tell you!"

Pounding, rattled the door in its frame. "Mr. Winchester? This is the police!"

Dean leaned forward into Sam's space, his gaze hard and unwavering and his voice calm but deadly. "Talk to me Sam, or so help me I will open that door myself."

The police pounded on the door again and Sam found himself pleading, begging with his brother with his eyes to understand him, just this once. Dean was staring back at him, equally pleading, but backed by anger.

"You're still having dreams, aren't you?"

Sam couldn't stop the helpless expression that flickered across his face. He so very badly wanted to tell him, but the pounding on the door matched his headache. "Dean-"

"I read your journal." Dean cut him off.

Sam was taken aback. His journals were practically his diaries, every sick and twisted thought, dream or vision was in there. What right did his brother have in reading it?! At the same time he felt relief; someone else knew now. He wasn't alone in this. But there was more shouting outside the door and he didn't want Dean to end up like him.

"Dean," his voice, a shaky whisper as he tried to inflect how serious he was, "Listen to me, please. You do _not -_ want - to know."

Dean's hard expression didn't change as he stared him down. "You're wrong about that." And then he was walking away, towards the door.

**TBC…**

**[Remember... the tide turns in the next chapter... stick with me! Trust in the Maygin :) **


	16. Chapter 16

**House of Burden**

**By: Maygin**

**The Blah-blah Section: (**ducks behind chair) Sorry guys on the late update. I don't really have an excuse for the weekend before last, however this weekend I was at the Supernatural Convention in Chicago that Jared, Jensen, Samantha Ferris and the YED were ALL at!!! It was AWESOME and AMAZING!! I met a lot of writers I've been wanting to meet and of course – JP and JA!!!! AAAHH!! Kay… sorry, calming down. Anywho, I got my just rewards for not posting sooner… when I went in to do the photo op with Jared, as I was leaving, I totally tripped over my own feet and nearly ate the floor. (nods) Yup… I'm a moron. So here, after two weeks of no updates, is chapter 16! I actually went ahead and combined 16 and 17 to make it a little longer since I was such a butthead for not updating sooner. Sorry, I suck. The new chapter 17 is halfway done. Thank you guys for being so patient!

**Chapter 16**

Dean turned away, walking towards his door. It was his last ditch effort to get his brother to talk. Whatever Sam was hiding was obviously pretty damn important, but it wasn't worth his sanity. Wasn't worth ruining his life. Dean wouldn't accept that.

_Please, please, please Sam… just open your damn mouth_, he thought desperately as he neared the door.

"Alright! Fine. You want the truth?"

Dean wanted to cry in relief. Hell_ yes_, he wanted the truth. _Talk to me Sammy, just freakin talk to me, tell me everything._ He turned back and looked expectantly at his brother; his brother who was standing now. W_hen the hell had he gotten so tall_?

"You're right… the dreams never stopped. And these…?" Sam yanked his jacket off, ripped away at the bandages, holding out the ugly wounds for Dean to see. "I didn't do this."

Dean's eyes widened. If Sam didn't do it, then… someone had hurt his little brother? Someone had tried to_ kill_ his little brother?!

"A monster did it. Actually a gargoyle to be exact." Bitterness put simply filled Sam's voice. "You see monsters are real… ghosts, spirits – demons too. There's a whole 'nother world out there that you know nothing about. And it's dark and ugly, and to be honest, it kinda scares the hell out of me."

Dean stared, speechless. Sam forged on.

"That Speech and Debate trip to Witchita? Yeah, I was actually hunting a wayward spirit. Nasty one too. Threw me off a bridge. Good thing Bobby was there. –Oh Bobby is a hunter, like me. Only he's a lot older. Older than Dad. But he's got a lot of experience. I'd probably be dead now if it wasn't for him." Sam paused a moment and Dean hardly noticed the silence in the room; the pounding on the door had stopped.

"Oh and you know that demon I used to dream about? The one with the yellow eyes I was always telling you about? …before that doctor turned you against me? …he's real. And apparently I'm connected to him in some way."

"The _seizure_ I had? Wasn't a seizure. I'm a psychic. I have visions." Sam shrugged. "Hurts like hell when I have 'em. Which is probably why they thought it was a seizure." Sam's expression turned regretful. "I didn't want you to know because…" Sam blew out a breath in frustration, his arms dropping to his sides. "I didn't want this for you, this life… this nightmare. Barring you even believed me." Sam joined in Dean's silent stare for a moment. "So there you have it. The whole truth." He paused. "You're move."

Dean stared, wide-eyed. A million thoughts raced through his head, but every time he tried to connect them to his mouth, he blanked. Mostly he was trying to figure out if Sam was messing with him. If it was all just a big, ha-ha-Dean, joke. Everything he said though matched the psychotic-speak in Sam's journal. And the absolute, dead serious look his brother was giving him told him Sam believed whole heartedly every crazy word he'd just spit out.

He wanted to believe his brother. He wanted to believe _in him_ more than anything in the world; believing what he _said_ was another story. Demons, ghosts, gargoyles… visions?! He couldn't… he just couldn't. He loved his brother, but they were talking about twisting reality inside out; turning the world into a frightening piece of fiction.

"Dean?" Sam was watching him expectantly.

It was too much. The world wasn't like that. It couldn't be. He would've noticed.

His stomach turned as he watched his brother's face go blank, a look that had scared the crap out of him as a fourteen year old, and was definitely scaring the shit out of him now.

"You don't believe me." Sam stated, quiet and finite.

Dean drew in a deep, shaky breath. "Sam…… _damnit Sammy_." Why couldn't it have been drugs? _That_ he could deal with. Visions and demons…?

Sam broke eye contact, swallowed, and gave a small nod. "Yeah," he whispered, as if he understood everything. And then Sam was silently brushing by him, opening the door and entering the hallway. Dean was blank. Somewhere in between not wanting his brother to go and not wanting to believe in monsters, his brain had short circuited.

He numbly realized he was alone and followed his brother's trail out his front door. He exited the building in time to see Sam willingly walk up to the surprised policeman and hold his hands out. Cuffs were slapped on, his brother was gently guided into the cop car and not once did Sam look back at him. The car drove away and Dean found himself alone, numb and lost. He locked himself in his apartment, unplugged his phone, his tv, shut off his cell phone, laid down on his couch and proceeded to stare at the ceiling.

* * *

'_I'm fine Sams fine They took him back Tell you bout it tomorrow promise Just give me tonight to deal.'_

Dean hit send, hoping the text message would belay any frantic worries he knew his parents were probably dealing with. As soon as the message sent, he shut the phone off again, tossing it on the coffee table. He was in the same position he'd been in for the past two hours without any helpful advice from the ceiling yet. He could only hope the message got to his parents before they decided to check on him in person and find out what happened.

_Knock Knock Knock_

Dean yanked the pillow from beneath his head and smothered it over his face as he growled. He should've sent the message two hours ago. He would have, had he been thinking coherently. He flung the pillow away, not caring where it landed, and rolled off the couch. He really wasn't ready to deal with this right now. He felt horrible, dirty… he felt like a traitor… a coward. All his little brother had asked was he believe that monsters and creatures that skin people alive and hang them in trees were real.

Not too much to ask… right?

Dean was not happy with himself. He'd never been unhappy with who he was until it came to Sam. With Sam it seemed everything he did was wrong. Why couldn't he get it right? And why have the last seven years been nothing but a numb memory? Like he hardly existed in the time he and Sam had turned their back on one another.

A sudden thought occurred to him as he reached for the door knob. What if he'd never followed the advice of that doctor? What if he hadn't stopped listening to Sam and Sam hadn't stopped talking? Would his brother's reality be a little less frightening?

…Would he be on the same path as his brother?

A few more light taps sounded on the door, breaking his thoughts, but not his frustration. He twisted the lock and flung the door open… and looked down.

Dean fish-mouthed, surprised. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman's lips pursed in displeasure. "Now, is that anyway to greet a guest?"

Dean's brow twisted with his own displeasure.

"And don't cuss at me!"

Dean's eyes widened and his head twitched back. "I didn't cuss at yo-"

"I didn't come here to argue with you boy. I came here to talk about your brother."

Dean paused. "What about my brother?"

The woman gave him a knowing, determined look. "It's time you got back on the right path, Dean."

* * *

"Sam? I know you can hear me. Can you open your eyes for me?"

It was a struggle. The first thing they did when he'd been escorted back through the security doors to the psyche ward was put him in a different room at the end of the hallway, restrain him to the bed, give him a shot of sedative and muscle relaxer and then locked him inside. He'd been laying in bed for the past three hours. At least he thinks; the drugs kicked in pretty quickly. He'd woken up about twenty minutes ago and still felt groggy.

That coupled with the fact that he just simply didn't _want_ to open his eyes made it something of an effort. He dragged them open, blinking against the florescent lights and proceeded to stare at the ceiling.

"Thank you." Dr. Reidisser sat next to his bed, clipboard in hand. He heard the older man sigh before leaning forward and resting an arm on the bed railing, speaking softly but clearly. "Sam, I have to admit, I'm very disappointed."

_Take a number._

"I assumed after our discussion yesterday morning that you were willing to go through some treatment… get yourself some help."

_No one can help me now._

"I trusted you and you betrayed that trust." There was a pause that Sam hardly noticed, couldn't find it within himself to care. "Barbara is facing possible disciplinary charges because of your actions."

Again, Sam couldn't find it within himself to care; he knew he should feel bad for the kind woman, but he couldn't… he couldn't feel much of anything at this point.

"She's a good woman who loves her job." The doctor paused a beat. "Sam, can you tell me what was going through your head when you decided to leave?"

_Hope. Determination. Revenge._

"Sam?"

He heard the doctor sigh again, shifting in the wooden chair. "Sam, the only way we're going to be able to work through this is if you talk to me. …You're stay here is solely dependant upon your cooperation."

_Not going anywhere. No place for me to go._

"Sam, I'd like for you to tell me how you feel right now."

_Numb… Alone … A walking corpse._

His gaze never strayed from the white nothingness of the ceiling.

"Can you tell me where you went after you left?"

_To stop a monster… He's coming._

"The police informed me you ran from them to your brothers, but from there you willingly handed yourself over. …Can you tell me why? What changed your mind?"

_Didn't believe me… Gave him what he wanted, but he didn't want it._

Dr. Reidisser sighed again and stood, leaning over Sam so he could see him. But Sam wasn't really seeing anything.

"Sam, I need you to listen very carefully to me… if you don't talk to me or give me some kind of a response, I'm going to have to put you on some very heavy medications." The man spoke softly into his ear. "And believe me when I say, you don't want that… do you understand?"

Sam continued to stare right through him. He was beyond caring. He was dead anyways after tonight. The gargoyle would come for him. He was better off drugged up… if anything, it would be a minor comfort to his family when they found out he was somehow ripped to shreds in a hospital.

At least it would all be over with… everything.

He vaguely noticed the disappointed look the doctor gave him before turning away and opening his door.

"Jackie… he's not responding. Go ahead and put him on Amitriptyline; 150 milligrams."

"A hundred and fifty?"

"…I'll sign the order."

The voices drifted away. A nurse came back a few minutes later with more syringes. He didn't flinch or acknowledge the woman. And then he was once again locked inside the room… alone.

* * *

"Who are you?" Dean repeated.

"My name's Missouri. And you're Dean Winchester. Your brother, Sam, is in real trouble."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean mumbled, running a hand over his face. He stumbled backwards in surprise as an elephant of a purse suddenly slammed into him.

"Boy, you better straighten up and listen to me!" The irate woman yelled. "And don't you start cussin at me or I'll whack you another one!"

Dean looked at her with wide eyes. "What the fu-"

Missouri raised her purse again and Dean jerked away, holding an arm up in defense. The purse lowered, but the frustration and confusion remained. Dean slowly lowered his arm as well, though cautiously.

"Well are you gonna invite me in or not?!" Missouri's arms went flying.

Dean startled again, tripping over his own feet.

_THUD _

* * *

"He told you then?"

"Who?" Dean was confused. He'd been confused the moment he'd opened his door. He wasn't afraid to admit the woman sitting across from him on his couch scared the bejeezes out of him.

"Your brother. He told you the truth… about what's really out there?"

"How do yo-" Dean paused, thoughts clicking into place. Anger flooded him. "Are you the one that's been feeding him all that crap?"

"It ain't crap Dean; it's real. But no, I didn't. He figured it out for himself."

"This is unbelievable," he vented, shaking his head. "I'm surrounded by insanity." He pushed to his feet.

"Sit!"

Dean sat.

"Now," Missouri started, a bit calmer. "Hand me your brother's journal." She held a hand out that Dean ignored.

"What?"

"Sam's journal; let me see it."

Dean's brow creased further still. "What makes you think I have it?"

"Because it's written all over your thoughts. When you're not busy worrying over how to get rid of me, you're worrying over your brother, and how to make sense of his journal."

Dean sat in stunned silence, keeping it hidden from his face, though he was getting the feeling there wasn't much he could hide from this woman. "What do you want it for?" He'd felt guilty enough as is reading the thing; his little brothers most personal and inner feelings mixed with insanity. He wasn't so certain he wanted yet another betrayal check-marked next to his name for letting a complete stranger read it.

Missouri smirked. "I'm about to make sense of it all for you."

"How?"

"By giving you the proof you need to believe. It's what you want isn't it? To believe your brother?"

Dean shook his head slowly; he did not like that this woman could read him so well… like a psychic. It was disturbing on a whole new level. His thoughts switched to Sam again, and the absolute look of hurt on his face when he realized Dean couldn't accept what he was telling him. He owed Sam… big time. He could give him this at least. He reached under the cushion of his chair and pulled the journal out. He held it up, a little reluctant to let it go, as if it were his last link to his youngest family member. "I must be crazy," he mumbled.

Missouri accepted the leather bound book and carefully started flipping through it. Dean noticed her wince and rub at her forehead a few times. She was obviously struggling through it; Lord knew Dean sure as hell had. The only difference was Missouri seemed to be in physical pain.

"It's the remnants," she said quietly.

"The what?"

"Your brother is very powerful… he doesn't know it yet, but he is. He needs to learn to control it; for now, he leaves pieces of himself, his thoughts and feelings, wherever he goes. It's how I found him in the first place."

Dean watched her flip through another page. "Lady, I don't have a ripe plum clue what the hell you're talking about."

Missouri looked up from the book. "Your brother is psychic Dean. Not like me though… his is different… more powerful."

Dean watched her carefully, scratched his arm. "Sam mentioned he was a psychic," he mumbled, not quite believing he was letting himself dabble in the possibilities.

"But he doesn't know why, does he?"

"He didn't say."

"Did he mention the Yellow Eyed Demon?"

Dean's mouth dropped open slightly, eyes widening. "He's real?"

"Everything in this book is real, son… whether you choose to believe it or not. Here…"

Dean looked to the page of the scribbling her finger was on. She looked at him.

"Do you remember that boy that was missing for a week? Disappeared from his third story bedroom with the door still locked?"

Dean's eyes bounced around, searching his thoughts. It hadn't been more than six months ago and it was all over the local news. "Yeah," he said, trying to recall the reports. "They thought the parents had done it, but there was an anonymous tip. Found the kid in some random wooded area." He looked at her. "They found _several_ kids didn't they?"

"That's right. All had mysterious internal bleeding. Only three of them survived."

"What does that have to do with Sam?" The last thing he really wanted to do was talk about dying children.

Missouri handed him the journal opened to the same page. "Read."

Dean eyed it a moment before taking it in hand. He sighed. "I think Kevin's disappearance may be connected with a few other missing children in surrounding towns. Had another vision last night; same as last time only clearer. Managed to recognize a few landmarks; Phelps statue, the old oak tree with the bronze plaque beneath it. There was a narrow path though I don't think it's manmade, hardly noticeable in the vision. Called PD a few minutes ago on a payphone down the street. Didn't see any children this time… hope that doesn't mean what I think it does. Eight children missing total… Need to prepare for the hunt tonight. Mom's making pot roast."

Dean wanted to laugh and cry at his brother's last statement. It was just so Sam; thoughts bouncing from one thing to the next; from monsters to meatloaf. He lifted his eyes to his guest who was patiently waiting. "So Sam saw a news report"

"Look at the date."

He glanced down at the date in the upper corner of the page.

"It's the same day those kids were found." Missouri affirmed.

"They say he's delusional, twists thing to fit his delusions." He hated that thought, hated it something fierce. But someone had to be the devils advocate. He needed to be sure.

"Dean Winchester, I could just slap you!" Dean backed away a fraction. "You want so badly to believe. I know you're scared, and I wish I had more time to prove your brother's sanity-"

"My brother's not insane." Dean immediately defended. "He's just…" He paused, helplessly searching for an answer, eyes dropping back to the journal.

"Son," Missouri leaned forward, speaking softly. "You have to make a decision here… there's something comin' for your brother."

"What?" Green eyes lifted, staring hard.

"A creature… twisted in a time no longer meant for it." Her voice held a hint of sadness.

"Why's it coming after Sam?"

"He tried to stop it." She offered simply.

"So let's say this creature is real… how would you kill it?"

"I don't know."

"So what the hell am I supposed to do?" he asked incredulously.

"Go to your brother. Talk to him. He may know."

Dean dropped his gaze guiltily. "I don't think he'll talk to me anymore."

Missouri leaned forward, resting a hand on Dean's. "Make him. You're his older brother Dean, and that still holds some weight with Sam." She paused and Dean found himself drawn into the older woman's eyes. "You may not see it, but deep down that child still worships the ground you walk on."

Dean gave a minute, sad shake of his head. "Not for a long time."

Missouri's fingers twisted into his, something thin pressing into his palm. He lifted his eyes to hers.

"Yes Dean… he does. But if you don't take that leap of faith…" She let go of his hand and sat back with a forlorn expression. "You're going to lose him in more ways than one." Missouri gripped her purse and then silently took her leave. Dean heard the door click shut behind her, but his eyes remained fixed on the small piece of paper in his hand.

**TBC…**

(btw - I also got to meet K Hanna Korossy and Blackwingedbird this weekend and they are seriously just as cool in person!! It was such an honor!)


	17. Chapter 17

**House of Burden**

**By: Maygin**

**The Blah-blah Section: **Alright, no complaining… there are 17 pages worth of story material here ;) I actually had about 10 more, but suddenly realized it was just too long and I needed to post _something_! So Happy Thanksgiving ya'll!! I hope this satisfies a lot of hopes. Remember, there's more to come! I tried not to make it a cliffhanger; however you're free to let me know differently if I failed. I'll probably just laugh at you, but know that it's out of love. :) HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! Thank you for still reading and commenting! It means a whole heapin lot! Oh, and I totally made something actually kinda cool on photoshop the other day! I made a banner to this story and it actually turned out somewhat decent!! ...I'm not proud or anything ;) It's over at Supernaturalville dot net if you wanna see it.

**Chapter 17**

Dean crouched behind a wheelchair, his back against the wall. _What had he been thinking_? There's no way he'd ever get away with this. This wasn't a movie. This was his twenty-one year old idiot self hiding behind wheelchairs so he can illegally sneak past trained hospital professionals and rescue his brother from fairy tales.

_Nightmares_, he reiterated. If the things from Sam's dreams were really _real_, then he was living a horror movie. He only hoped he wasn't the moron that didn't check behind their back and got their face eaten off. With that thought in mind, his head whipped to his right and barely restrained a huge sigh of relief when he was met with nothing. At the same moment, the shuffling of feet turned the corner; two large men with white badges hanging from their shirt pockets stood before the elevators, joking to themselves. Dean pressed further back against the wall, eyes wide, not breathing and stupidly wondering if hospital staff were trained to sniff out intruders.

Then the elevator doors opened and the men disappeared behind them. Dean ran a shaky hand over his face. "This is friggin nuts." But then he remembered that monsters were real now, or so he was trying to convince himself, and one was coming for his little brother. That helped a little more with the convincing part. He pushed away from the wall and moved to the edge of his little cove. He peeked around the corner.

Two doors blocked his way ten feet into the hallway. He eyed the security card reader next to the doors and swallowed. Slipping a hand into his back pocket, he pulled out a small white badge, identical to the ones the two men who'd just left had worn. Lucky break number one. At least he knew now how Sam had escaped. Clever kid. He didn't know how he'd managed to swipe one of the badges off one of the staff members, but he was oddly proud of him for it.

Now if he could just figure out how this Missouri lady knew Sam had stashed his bag of goodies in a locker at the local bus depot… a small shiver ran up his back; that woman creeped him out, in a too knowing kind of way. Not to mention all the surprises he'd found stuffed inside the backpack. That would have him on edge for years to come. What the hell was his brother doing with a gun? And what did he need that wicked looking knife for? Well… he knew now… some small part of him still wished he didn't.

He took in a deep breath, held it and then swiped the card through the reader. The light turned green and Dean pressed gently on the door. It gave easily under his hand. He pushed it open as quietly as he could, taking equal care in closing it behind him. The lights along the hallway were dimmed. Night mode. _What a joke_, Dean sneered.

He waited another minute and then slipped around the corner. He stayed close to the wall despite knowing it would offer no cover what so ever should someone appear. He slid to a stop where the nurse's station sat in between the floors two hallways. His ears picked up the clicking of nails on computer keys.

Peeking one eye around the corner, he spotted a middle-aged nurse working on some kind of report. A small radio with soft rock playing kept her company. Dean's eyes latched onto the black and white television setting beside her. Security system. But that wasn't what caught his attention. What caught his attention was the hunched figure on the screen.

He whipped around spotting the culprit immediately. The camera lay safely encased in a plastic box on the ceiling, catching his every move.

Dean's eyes traveled the length of the hallway. He grimaced. Every few doors sat another camera. He shook his head. It wasn't even his good side, he thought as he watched the tv feed again. It didn't switch feed so Dean assumed the nurse manually controlled it. Lucky break number two.

He crawled below the high desk, making his way between the two hallways and out of camera range. Now if he could just-

_Bingo_. A marker board, sectioned off with tape hung from the wall across from him. On it were room numbers, patient names and nurses assigned to each. _Room 232 – Winchester_, was messily scrawled in bold red marker. Dean checked the door numbers to his left and right.

_Left it is_.

He crawled away from the desk until he passed the corner of the left hallway. Then he stood and hurriedly moved down the corridor. He came to a sudden stop and froze.

Two-thirty-two.

Dean was scared. If he walked through that door, he was sealing the deal; throwing himself fully into his brother's world. He drew in a deep breath and bolstered his courage. He could do this for Sam. And if it really ended up being a mental issue, well, then maybe they'd lock them in a room together. Because Dean didn't do anything half-assed, and Sam wasn't stupid. If he was going to start believing in his brother's world, he was going to have to live in it.

He slipped the card key through the reader next to his brother's door. Again the light turned green and Dean slipped inside. The door clicked softly closed behind him as he scanned the room. Desk, chair, bathroom, sink, bed… Sam.

Restrained, asleep, and despite the steady breathing, looking quite haggard and lifeless. He didn't remember walking toward the bed, but suddenly he was right there… next to his brother. Sam looked even worse close up. Dark, charcoal rings lined his eyes, skin pale, cheeks slightly flushed. Dean had half a mind to bust his brother out for those reason's alone.

"Sam?" he quietly called, giving his brother's shoulder a little shake. He didn't want to scare him and end up drawing unwanted attention to the room. Sam didn't stir, didn't even flinch. "Sam." He shook him a little harder.

Nothing.

He started patting his cheek repeatedly, calling his name.

"Mmmphh."

"There ya go." Dean felt an inner sigh of relief. "Keep it coming… come on Sammy-boy, open them green eyes of yours… come on." He ran a thumb lightly over his brother's eyes, trying to coax them open. Sam groaned again, sluggishly trying to turn his head away.

"Nope, come on little brother, I can do this all day so you might as well open them."

Sam's eyelids flinched and then slowly, languishly, they opened, one at a time. Dean smiled brightly at his success, but it died just as quickly as he watched Sam continue to struggle awake. "Sam?"

Sam's eyes rolled around the room, unfocused, glassy. Dean immediately spotted the largely dilated pupils.

"Mmbobbffy"

Dean's lip curled. He didn't care who this Bobby was at the moment; Dean was here, and he was going to take care of his brother, of his family. Not Bobby.

"Sam?" Dean pulled his limp brother up so he was half sitting, half slumped over, ready to fall back to the bed the second Dean loosened his grip. "I need you focus for me okay? Can you look at me?" He got right in his face, hoping to fill most of the roaming eyes view.

"Thheeaan?"

"Close enough." He squeezed his brother's arm. "It's me kiddo. You were right. I believe you okay? I'm here to get you out."

"I don' wan' pancakesss."

Dean felt minorly guilty for knowing if he wasn't in the predicament he was in, he'd be laughing his ass off at his brother's slurred and confused response. Instead he steadied his brother and let go with one hand, shoving the thin white sheet off him. He glanced at the restraints.

"Can you sit up on your own for a second?"

"Piink?"

Dean couldn't help it, he snorted. "What? No, Sam. I need you to sit up on your own. Can you do that?"

Sam's glazed eyes watched him for a moment, intensely. "Yeeaah."

"'Kay." Dean let him go, reached for the restraints at his brother's feet. A second later the bed bounced with a _thwump_. He closed his eyes without turning around, shoulders dropping. "You okay?"

"'ean?"

Dean unstrapped the last leg restraint and moved back up the bed, into Sam's vision. "Right here Sammy."

"Dean." Sam sounded pleasantly surprised.

Dean smirked. "Must be some nice drugs you're riding on huh?"

Sam blinked a few times. "No."

Dean waited a moment for more, but Sam seemed done talking. He briefly hoped it was the drugs and not Sam remembering why he was in strapped down in a bed in the first place. "You feelin' okay?"

"Um…" Sam swallowed, and Dean got the impression Sam was still trying to blink him into focus. "You're here."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I'm here now."

"Why?"

Dean tried not to wince at the stab of guilt that plunged into his gut. Did he have to sound so completely oblivious when he asked that? Dean had a million different ways to answer his brother's question, but only one seemed to sum it all up. "Because I'm your brother."

Sam's head lolled a little, but his gaze never left Dean's face, reading him in whatever state of comprehension Sam was in. "Okay."

It was said so simply. Four little letters put together to wipe away year's worth of guilt so heavy he didn't think he could bear it. One little word slipped from his brother's lips eased the burden. Dean felt like he could actually think clearly again. Something clicked into place, something so loud he could almost hear it; _brother's keeper_. What had scared him before, what he'd shied away from growing up was staring him right in the face, giving him another chance; a chance to be an older brother.

"I'm here to get you out." Dean started working on the wrist restraint closest to him. "Your friend came to see me. Told me about the monster or whatever-"

"Gonna kill me."

Dean put both hands on his brothers head, giving it a little shake till he looked him in the eye again. "No… Sam, no. It's not gonna kill you. You understand me?" Sam's head did a poor imitation of a nod, Dean's hands limiting his movement, the drugs limiting everything.

"You know why?" Dean released him, moving to the last wrist restraint, trying to be careful of the bandaged wrists beneath. "Because I'm gonna take care of you. Okay?" He flung the restraint away and pulled Sam back into a sitting position, staring hard into dilated eyes. "You're not alone anymore Sammy."

Sam watched him. And damn if Dean couldn't see the comprehension in the glazed stare, the flicker of expression, the welling of tears. Sam was an open book with all the drugs in his system, his normal walls broken down by chemicals… vulnerable. It hurt Dean to see it. "Come here." Dean curled a hand around the back of Sam's neck and pulled his brother forward into his chest, wrapping an arm around his back. Sam didn't sob or shudder. It was quiet; silent tears soaking into Dean's shirt. He rubbed small circles into Sam's back.

"It's gonna be alright," he soothed, pressing his cheek to Sam's head. His hand paused it's comforting mantra as the lights outside flickered. Lifting his head, he watched the window go dark to his left, the parking lot lights below them dying out. He turned to his right in time to see the dim hallway lights in the crack beneath the door suddenly flicker as well. Was there a power outage? In a hospital? Didn't they have backup generators and stuff? The little green light on the camera in the corner of the room however was still solid; so no power outage, which just confused him more.

A sudden loud screeching noise cut through the outside like glass on chalkboard. Dean's head whipped around. He had no illusions as to what made that noise.

"Sam?" Comfort time was over; he pushed his brother to arms length and tried to get him to look him in the eye. "Hey, we need to get out of here. Missouri said you'd know what to do." He watched Sam intently, waiting for some kind of magical answer to keep them alive.

"We goin' to Misssouri?" Sam asked with clear confusion.

"What? No- dude, that thing is here." Dean shook him a little when Sam's eyes started roaming again. "I need you to tell me what to do," he said desperately. He realized suddenly if they lived through this, he was going to have to spend some serious time reading up on everything he could dealing with his brother's world, because he did not want to have to ask his Sam that ever again. It just didn't sit right with him.

Another high pitched, screeching bark sounded outside, chilling his insides. He reminded himself to breath and looked down into Sam's face again. This time Sam was staring back at him.

"Sshhursh."

"What?"

Sam's eyes slipped closed as he swallowed and licked his lips. "Chursh," he tried again.

Dean ran the slurred word through his vocabulary. "Chur- church – _church_?"

Sam half-whimpered an affirmation, clumsily squeezing Dean's arm with uncoordinated fingers.

"You wanna go to church?"

Sam shook his head sluggishly. "Holy… grroun'."

Dean's chin puckered. "Why does that actually make sense?" Dean shook the thought from his head though, instead focusing on pulling Sam's legs off the bed, turning him toward the door. "Alright, do you think you can walk if I help you?"

"Yeahh."

Dean paused, searching the glazed eyes. "Right." He sighed briefly and then put one knee to the floor, leaning forward and pressing his shoulder into his brother's stomach. "Ready for a little topsy turvey?"

"'Kay."

Dean pulled back on Sam as he pushed to his feet with a grunt. Sam was no light weight, but he'd definitely not been taking care of himself; Dean had expected him to weigh a heck of a lot more. Sam made a strangled grunting noise of his own as his world turned upside-down.

"You're not gonna get sick on me are ya?"

"Sssomffum."

Dean didn't bother translating; he was fairly certain Sam didn't know what had come out of his mouth either. He shifted his brother over his shoulder a bit and then made for the door, a loud bang sounding from outside followed by several car alarms suddenly going off. Dean booked it out the door, no longer bothering with being quiet. If what Missouri said about the monster was real, there were a lot more lives at stake while they stuck around.

"Hey!" The night nurse sprang from her chair, shocked to see a patient being carried away by a stranger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" She picked up the phone, dialing security.

"Lock these doors." Dean ordered as he passed by the desk. "And then lock yourself in one."

"What? Stop!" The nurse dropped the phone, running after them, but froze as shattering glass sounded down the hallway Dean had come from. A loud thud and crunching glass echoed followed by a low, beastly grunt.

"Get inside one of the rooms!" Dean yelled back. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, more lives were at risk. He had to trust the woman's fear would drive her to obedience. Dean snagged the card key from his pocket, swiped it, and was through the door with hardly a breath in between. He turned the corner and practically beat the elevator button. He didn't even wait for the doors to fully open before he was squeezing them inside and repeating his beating sequence on the first floor button. A loud crack and breaking of glass sounded just around the corner. A barking screech hit his ears painfully as he laid into the door close button.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Finally the doors started sliding closed. He pressed himself and his brother against the back wall, watching the huge, dark form of muscled creature with a wingspan he couldn't fully see as the doors closed and deadly looking claws reaching for them. The doors sealed shut on a pair of glowing blue eyes… cold and stone, chilling his insides; they spoke of death.

"We goin' to Misssouree?"

Dean's eyes slipped closed with a shuddered sigh of relief as he sagged against the back wall. He'd wanted proof… now he wanted a change of pants. An echoing bang off metal resounded down the elevator shaft, small vibrations carrying through the walls. Dean ran a hand over his face. How the hell did his brother deal with these kind of things day in and day out, he thought with awe. And what the hell was his little brother doing trying to fight these things by himself anyways, his thoughts changed to anger. He embraced it, anger he could deal with; guilt over how many of the things in Sam's journal he'd faced alone… he wasn't ready to deal with that just yet.

"My head'ss'thhrobbing."

"I know kiddo, we're almost to the car okay?"

The elevator gently bounced as it stopped on the first floor, doors sliding open to reveal an empty corridor. He didn't hesitate, he ran right past the little old lady at the reception desk who he hardly glanced at to see her startled expression.

He stumbled in the parking lot but caught his footing before they both spilled to the ground; several cars in the lot had large, inch deep scratch marks on them, some with windows smashed, hoods dented, and a few had obviously been shoved out of the way. Glass littered the street around them. Another high pitched screech echoing across the lot got him moving again. He almost fainted from the pure amount of relief rushing to his head at seeing his own car untouched.

He stopped at the passenger side, battled for the keys in his pocket, yanked them out and shoved them into the lock. Pulling the door open, as gently as he could he lowered his brother into the seat, almost falling on top of him with the momentum. He backed up, threw the kid's too long legs in, slammed the door shut and ran around to the driver's side, eyes bouncing around the expansive lot for their predator.

* * *

Sam bit back a moan as the world outside his view started coming at him, bright lights blurring into neon lines and air rushing in his ears accompanied by constant thrumming, all too fast and too much. He squeezed his eyes closed and concentrated on thought patterns, not visuals and sensation. Thought patterns he could control, or at least he used to be able to; he just needed to get past the fog.

"Here." Dean tossed a half full water bottle into his lap, barely glancing at him as he focused on tearing out of the parking lot, tires squealing. Sam clumsily tried to keep himself from sliding into the door on one particularly sharp turn.

"Sorry," Dean said belatedly before gesturing to the bottle in his hands. "Drink that. Might help clear your head a little."

Sam obeyed eagerly. Not only did he want the heavy fog in his head to go away, the drugs made him ravenously thirsty. He chugged the water down in one breath, let the bottle slip from his fingers to the floor and then his head drop back tiredly against the seat.

"You okay?" Dean's concerned voice carried over the loud revving of the car as they sped through a stop light.

Sam lifted his hand in front of his face with a small frown. "This is new." His hand was shaking noticeably, and now that he thought about it, he could feel the tremors moving through his body as well.

"Is that the drugs?" Dean asked, making another sharp turn on the wheel.

"Think so." Sam's hand dropped tiredly back to his lap.

"What the hell did they give you?" The car jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding a large pothole.

"I don't know," Sam half-whimpered; he was so beyond tired and worn out, physically and emotionally.

Dean glanced in his rearview mirror for the hundredth time. "Well, you're sounding a little more with it."

"I think the water helped."

"That was fast… there's another bottle in the back." Dean jerked his thumb behind them, concentrating on the narrow lanes coming at them.

Sam drew in a deep breath and then put all his effort into shifting around, kneeling on the seat, his torso draped over the back as he reached for the un-opened bottle rolling across the floor boards. He gripped tightly onto the seat as the car made another jarring turn, complimented by angry horns. He felt a small twinge of pain as the skin along his wrists pulled against stitches beneath the bandages. He reached for the bottle again, snatching it up successfully. Straightening, he popped the top, which also took some effort and then tilted his head back, drinking huge gulps as if his life depended on it, trying to keep his shaky hands from spilling water all over his face.

Finally, he lowered the bottle and took a much needed breath. It caught in his throat as his muscles suddenly stiffened. Staring out the back window with wide eyes, glowing blue eyes met his. The gargoyle sat hunched on the trunk, wings pulled in, claws gripping the edging of the trunk, looking at him with clear intent. Dark lips pulled back barring large, razor sharp fangs.

"Dean," Sam managed to strangle out quietly.

"What?" Dean glanced first at Sam and then the rearview mirror. "Shit!"

He slammed on the break just as the creature raised an enormous, deadly claw. The car screeched to a sudden, jarring stop; gargoyle thumping loudly over the hood, off the front windshield to the ground, Sam thrown backwards into the dash.

Dean didn't even think, he threw the gear into reverse and pressed the accelerator to the floor. Sam struggled to keep himself from folding into the floor boards, arms flailing clumsily against the dash and door, his legs trying to find purchase on the seat.

"Hold on!" Dean yelled just before throwing the car back into gear with a hard turn on the wheel. The vehicle squealed completely around, the back wheels fishtailing until Dean hit the accelerator again and they headed back the way they'd come.

When they were once more headed in a straight line, Dean reached over, twisted a hand in Sam's white scrub shirt, yanking him off the dashboard and onto the seat toward him.

Sam's head bounced off his brother's hip as he ended up sprawled across the front seat. The interior of the car swam dizzily across his eyes, taking his brain with it, making him nauseous. He squeezed his eyes closed with a low moan.

"Tell me you're not gonna get sick in my car." Dean threatened, his eyes bouncing between the road, his mirrors and his brother.

Despite the bile creeping up the back of his throat, Sam grinned, eyes still closed. "Thanks for coming to get me Dean," he said quietly as he gripped the edge of the seat with shaky fingers. A moment later a hand swept gently over his head, a silent apology.

"The church." Dean cleared his throat. "Does it matter what kind?"

"Where are we?" Sam braced his feet against the passenger side door as they turned another corner.

"Lumierre; there's that Baptist church a few miles down the road."

"Has to be empty, no people." He pulled his free hand out from beneath his side and rubbed at his eyes. Not only was he having troubles seeing straight, but what he _could_ see was going blurry.

"Right, wouldn't want anyone to see the big scary monster and come save our asses."

"Can't," Sam swallowed down more bile, wondering where the water bottle had rolled to. "It'd kill 'em."

"It's gonna kill _us_, Sam. Unless you know some way to stop it," Dean fished.

Sam nodded against his brother's hip. "Cut it's head off."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "That actually sounds fun. How do we do that? I didn't exactly bring my rapier along."

"What _did_ you bring?"

"Whatever the hell you've got stashed away in that backpack of yours."

Sam's brow drew together. "The black one?"

"Yeah."

"Where'd you find it?" He asked, slightly awed; he'd thought it lost forever.

"The dead oak tree behind the library with the big hole in it. It was inside." Dean spared a quick glance down. "You didn't put it there?"

"No," Sam said miserably. His thoughts were still cloudy and he was having a hard time keeping up.

"Well, whatever. You got a sword in it or a really big axe? 'Cuz that'd be real convenient right about now."

"Binding ritual," Sam suddenly remembered.

"Bi-… what? Is that like chanting or something?"

"No – yes," Sam kneaded his forehead. He tried to keep his responses short and precise; he really couldn't put much effort anything more, his thoughts were just too muddled and slow to wade through. "I don't have it."

Dean shook his head. "Uh… _what_?"

"Too fast… strong. We need to bind it before we can kill it."

"…but you don't have it."

"Bobby." Sam curled his legs into his chest, it was a childish form of protection but he didn't care, he was too scattered to care.

Dean licked his lips in annoyance. "Is that the older guy whose been helping you?"

"Yes… he's coming."

"Thank God." Dean may not care for him, but he'd take whatever help they could get at this point.

"He'll never get here in time though."

Dean blinked. "Right… so no weapon, no binding ritual and no help… so basically we're helpless."

"Holy groun-"

"Yeah, yeah I know; holy ground," Dean cut him off, spying the turn off into the upcoming Church's parking lost. He glanced at his mirrors again. "I think we lost it."

"I doubt it," Sam grunted.

Dean's eyes rolled. "How's it trackin' us anyways?"

Sam shrugged. "It's supernatural," he stated, as if that explained everything.

"Right." Dean slowed, pulling into the dark parking lot and then coming to a screeching halt on the sidewalk next to the front entrance. "We're here," he informed as he hurriedly exited the car, running around the passenger side and yanking the door open. Reaching in, he fisted his hands into his brother's shirt, pulling him forward. Sam's hand shot out, halting his brother as he started to bend over.

"I can walk." Dean slapped his hand down, ignoring him, but Sam leaked frustration into his voice. "Dean- please." His brother paused, looking up at him. "Or I swear to God I will puke all over you."

Dean blinked and then changed tactics; standing and putting a shoulder beneath Sam's before lifting out and up with a grunt from both. "You okay?" Dean gasped as he adjusted the extra weight; this night was going to give him a hernia, he was sure of it.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, head down, eyes squeezed shut and free hand braced against his brother's chest, fingers curling into his shirt as they started to move toward the church's front entrance.

Dean leaned Sam against the wall then turned back to the door. He yanked at the door with no results; even a well placed kick of frustration had no effect. "Damnit!" He took another step back to deliver another kick when Sam's arm shot out.

"Stop, Dean… stop." Sam swallowed and bent over, hands resting on his knees, trying to push past the vertigo.

"It's locked Sam," Dean stated as if it weren't blaringly obvious. Their only safe haven from certain death was a step beyond this entrance but the stupid door was locked.

"My bag," Sam gasped, and then spit some of the sour saliva from his mouth. _Why couldn't he stop shaking?_

"What?" Dean leaned over, trying to see his brother's pale face. "Your backpack?" Sam didn't answer, nodding his head jerkily instead. Dean gave him a quick pat on the back before racing back to the car, throwing the trunk open, snagging his brother's pack and running back up the steps. "I got it," he announced, slightly out of breath, eyes torn between searching the dark parking lot and his younger brother still bent over at the waist.

"Front pocket… black case." Sam wiped a trembling hand across his forehead.

"This thing?" Dean held a small, leather case beneath his face. Sam nodded and made a motion of un-zipping with one hand. Dean did and held it open for him, looking curiously at the contents of the case. Sam reached up and tiredly withdrew two long pieces of metal that looked suspiciously like dental tools.

"Door," Sam gestured toward the front entrance. Dean maneuvered his way beneath Sam's shoulder again, moving them toward the locked door. Sam clumsily slid the picks into the lock and then fumbled around for a few seconds, paused, wiped a shaky fist across his brow and then squeezed his eyes closed, twisting the picks in the lock by memory alone.

_CLICK_

The sound was like was the opening tune to Star Wars in Dean's ear; triumphant and all encompassing. He was impressed to say the least. So much so he was about to say just that but then Sam sagged in his arms, one metal pick slipping from trembling fingers to plink across the concrete ground. Dean adjusted, gripping a bandaged wrist, pulling it over his shoulder and barreling his way through the door, kicking it closed behind him.

The entrance led into a large sanctuary with three rows of pews leading up to a stage and alter. A baptismal receptacle sat at the back, behind the choir chairs, see-through and filled with still, clear water, sparkling from the half-light of the moon outside the decorated windows. A flat-topped organ sat to the left of the stage and a grand piano to the right. Dean dragged his brother down the left isle, setting them both down with their backs to the raised stage, the alter standing above them.

"Don't move," Dean commanded as he turned and jogged back up the isle, through the front door, picked up his brother's pack and picks and then locked the door closed behind him with hardly a glance outside to the surrounding lot. It was too dark anyways, if it had tracked them there, it would've been nothing but shadow across his eye.

As he stepped into the sanctuary, he felt his hand along the wall, finding several switches; he flipped them all. The large, spacious room filled with lights that slowly flickered to life… _early warning system_, he applauded himself. Dean's lips flattened into a thin line as he spied his brother drunkenly pulling himself up onto the stage next to the alter.

"What are you doing?" he called as he made his way down the isle, his voice echoing off the high ceiling and marble flooring.

Sam twisted around, flopping onto his back, breathing deeply to try and control his shakes and quell the spinning room. Dean hopped onto the stage and stepped into his line of sight, standing above him with a definite look of annoyance.

"I told you to stay still."

"Actually you said _don't move_."

"Sam," Dean sighed in frustration. Sam could give him that, after all, he'd practically turned his brother's life upside down and inside out; and this new world was unforgiving, that much Sam knew. Dean was allowed his frustrations for the moment.

"Is that my bag?" He asked lightly, trying to draw Dean's attention elsewhere. Dean didn't answer him, instead dropping the heavy bag next to his brother, objects inside it clunking together. Dean knelt down beside him, wrapping his fingers around his brother's bandaged wrist.

"Geeze Sam." His brother's pulse raced beneath his fingers, accounting for the trembling and slight flush to his face.

"It'll wear off." Sam pulled his wrist back and started pushing himself up to a sitting position.

Dean lent him a hand. "Yeah, but not before Godzilla finds us."

"Thought you said we lost him?" Sam asked as he rifled through his bag.

"And I thought you said we didn't?" Dean shot back. Sam reached into the very bottom and pulled out his Beretta, grateful it had also been reclaimed, and fiddled with it in his lap, checking the rounds.

Dean's eyes widened; he hadn't seen that after his first cursory glance in the bag. "Tell me that's real."

Sam locked the casing back in place with ease despite the unusual heaviness of it in his hands. "It's real." His head jerked forward suddenly as Dean cuffed him upside his head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"What the hell are you doing carrying around a loaded gun in your backpack?!" Dean had a protective glint in his eye. "You're sixteen years old!"

Sam looked at his blurry frame with a little of his own annoyance. "Would you rather I didn't have it right now?" He neglected to mention the fact that it barely slowed down the gargoyle last time.

Dean didn't have a response to that, instead snatching the weapon from his brother's hands. "Did you at least have the safety on?" Dean asked, checking it himself.

"Yes Dean, I'm not a moron." Sam left the gun to his brother's able hands. They'd both handled guns before; their father hunted deer and turkey once in a while, not to mention his military upbringing and made certain they knew how to properly care for and hold one… all while Mary was out of town of course. He'd never actually taken them shooting, but he'd shown them how. Sam dug into his bag again, pulling out his long knife, setting it down beside him. He reached in once more and pulled out a small, hard case, opening it, sliding out a thick piece of what looked like charcoal.

"What's that?" Dean watched him curiously, gun held securely in his hand.

"Kinda like a big crayon. Oil based with some other things in it. Won't wash away as easily." Sam twisted to his side, leaning on one elbow facing the floor. He paused, hesitant.

"What's it for?" Dean shifted, moving to his side.

"Sigils and things."

"Oh, right," Dean rolled his eyes. It was like another language, trying to speak to his brother now that Sam was _talking_ to him. "Need some help with that?"

"Yes." Sam admitted gratefully, placing the black lump into his brother's waiting hand. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the blurriness. "I need you to draw a circle."

"How big?" Dean asked as he crouched a few feet away.

"Big enough for both of us to sit in."

"'Kay." Dean set to drawing as smooth a circle as he could while Sam dug into his bag again.

"You don't by any chance have my old journal with you, do you?" Sam asked, giving up on the bag.

"It's in my apartment, why?" Dean looked up from his careful scrawling.

"It's in the journal and I just… I'm having troubles… thinking." Sam pressed trembling fingers against his forehead, kneading it. "I can't- …everything's muddled and I can't-"

"Sam- Sam, hey! It's okay." Dean reached over, gently pulling Sam's arm down. Dean knew the drugs were working his brother over big time, but he'd forgotten how much of a thinker Sam was; how much he relied on that way too smart brain of his. "What am I making here?" he calmly asked, trying to help focus his brother's thoughts a little more and ease his frustration.

"It's uh…" Sam drew in a shaky breath. "It's a protection symbol."

"Okay, how does it work?"

"There's sigils, yo- you have to draw the right sigils and then… then I don't know, it- it just works."

"I ain't complainin'." Dean lowered his head with a grin, trying to get Sam to see it. He knew it was the medication, but it still bothered him to see his little brother trembling like a leaf and frustrated with himself because he couldn't stop it. "What sigils do I need to draw?"

"A lot," Sam said and he didn't care anymore if he sounded like he was whining or if his eyes started to burn with tears. "There's… it's complicated and- I don't know if I can remember-"

"Sam. Hey- look at me." Dean waited until glassy green met his. The drugs were really messing with his brother's emotions, magnifying them, leaving him open and vulnerable. "I know it's hard kiddo, but I need you to focus, okay?" Sam's eyes dropped and he swallowed hard, giving a small nod of his head. "Alright… what's_ one_ of the sigils? Just focus on one."

"It's uh…" Sam's eyes closed in thought. "Wait, uh… you need to draw another circle, on the inside."

"Inside this one?"

"Yeah, about an inch width from the outer one."

"'Kay." Dean set about drawing whatever his brother told him to. Sam was as detailed as he could be in his descriptions, and there were times Dean could tell Sam was having trouble seeing it; he'd hesitate, stutter, start breathing shallower and the trembling would increase. He stepped in during those times with reassurances and calmly tried to help him refocus. He ignored the insecure, panicked comment about the possibility that it might not even hold against the creature. _Every little bit helps_, he'd told him, trying to inject some confidence into the damaged psyche. He'd never liked the self-conscious look on his brother's face, it just never sat right with him.

He was a little in awe when Sam started describing latin, greek and Hebrew symbols to him; and even more in awe when he muttered a few phrases to himself, as if saying them in length in a sentence would help bring the meaning closer to mind and separate what symbols needed to be where. Dean did his best to transcribe them all onto the stage's hardwood floor.

"Um… Anael." Sam closed his eyes, sitting heavily against the alter behind him. "A-N-A-E-L," he spelled out. "And then uh… um."

The lights above them flickered, a few making whining zap noises, before they all fizzled out, plunging the room into moonlit darkness. Dark shadows appeared all around them, silent and looming.

"Sam," Dean whispered, stressed; eyes adjusting to the soft light of the moon.

"I'm thinking," Sam's voice trembled, panic seeping in again.

"How much more is there?" Dean scanned the sanctuary with wide eyes.

"Just one, but I can't remember if it's Ten Sephiroth or Yod."

"So we'll put both down."

"You can't do both," Sam argued passionately, as if it were the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

"Why not?" Dean growled. They really didn't have time for this; Godzilla had found them.

"Because one is a Tree of Life with the name of Solomon to the left and right, and the other is a mystical symbol for the Semitic numeral 10."

"And?" Dean leveled a glare at him. Sam stared back stubbornly, pupils still blown. A horribly loud crack came from outside, like a large tree breaking in half followed by a drawn out creak. Both boys startled again as a powerful crash sounded, fizzling and snapping of electricity muffled by the walls of their safe haven, but still sharp in its echo.

They waited, listening; but only Sam's shaky breaths filled the silence. The turned to look at each other with wide eyes.

"Tree of Life," Sam blurted.

"You sure?"

"Yes." Sam was certain, he didn't think he had anymore adrenaline to be had, but the last burst of it from the loud noises outside had cleared his head a little. "Uh… in the middle of the star. It's a thick 'T' with pointed ends and a triangular base."

Dean immediately started scrawling the picture down along with the name of Solomon on both sides that Sam described.

"Done," Dean stated and quickly stood, moving out of the circle toward his brother. "How will we know if it works?"

"If it works."

"Nice." Dean grimaced as he reached down, pulling his brother up and wrapping his arm across his shoulders. A sharp _crack _echoed loudly within the sanctuary, slicing into the silence; both boys froze, heads whipping around toward the back, where the shadows were the deepest. Wide eyes searched intently in the darkness, for the tiniest fragment of movement, something to give away the monster that had infested their safe haven.

"I'm guessing the holy ground thing didn't work," Dean barely whispered, eyes never leaving the blackness.

"Didn't think it would… it's not evil." Sam's body trembled against Dean like a junkie needing a fix; Dean could almost hear his heartbeat it was racing so fast.

"It's trying to kill us," he reminded Sam.

"It's existing in a world that doesn't allow for that type of magic anymore… it's twisted, unguided."

Dean's hand across Sam's back squeezed suddenly, silencing him. Both listened. It came again, a low, breathy grunt. They couldn't see it anywhere, only moonlight and shadows filled the sanctuary.

_Where, where, where?_

Dean suddenly got an ill feeling in his stomach. He lifted his head, heart abruptly dropping into his stomach. Sam felt his brother stiffen and followed his gaze, eyes widening. The gargoyle clung to the rafters high above, a large shadow with phosphorescent blue eyes staring down on them. It growled, long and guttural, and then the boy's eyes latched onto the large pew hanging from one muscular claw.

They both cried out separate curses as the creature released its hold on the heavy piece of furniture. Dean shoved his brother the opposite way of him before diving off the stage himself. The pew crashed loudly to the stage, wood cracking and splinters exploding all around them, the floor shaking with resounding vibrations.

Dean barely got to his feet before the huge form of the gargoyle landed before him. He stumbled back in surprise. The creature pulled back a large arm and suddenly Dean found himself flying across the sanctuary. He hit the isle floor and rolled to a stop. Pushing up onto arms and knees, strained muscles screamed loudly at him. He looked up in time to see his brother drunkenly raise a sharp piece of splintered pew and then ram it into the creatures back.

The wood glanced off the gargoyles rough skin, like stone; splinters from the wood slicing into Sam's hands as his momentum carried him forward. The gargoyle swatted him down with a large claw, drawing blood and a cry of pain.

"No!" Dean scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pull of muscle as the gargoyle reached down and curled sharp clawed fingers into his brother's shirt beneath his chin, lifting him up in the air.

Sam's legs kicked weakly for purchase, gasping for oxygen as the creature's huge fist pressed into his throat. He tilted his head back as far as he could, trying desperately to simply breathe as the blue pinpoints of the monster's eyes swam into the shapeless shadows that blurred his vision. He could vaguely feel the sharp burn across the back of his shoulder, something warm and wet slipping down his back.

"Sam!" Dean stumbled down the isle, pulling his brother's Beretta from his belt line and flipping the safety. The gargoyle barked at him, heated air displacing around its mouth, contradicting the cold blue of it's steely, glowing eyes. And then it's wings unfolded, spanning a great length, muscles shifting in one powerful stroke as the creature lifted off the ground, Sam dangling from it's fist, choking noises gasping for purchase.

Dean aimed but didn't dare take a shot with his brother in the way. The gargoyle's wings pushed heavily against the air, lifting them further until they were high above, strong, muscled arm and clawed feet gripping the rafters. Sam's movements slowed. The gargoyle paused, iridescent eyes turning in the shadows toward Dean, lips pulling back revealing long, sharp fangs, and Dean could swear it was grinning at him. His stomach clenched painfully.

"NO!"

The creature let go and suddenly Sam dropped with a cry, arms and legs flailing in the open air, falling forever until his body suddenly hit water, a huge splash shooting up and over the lip of the baptismal glass. Dean almost fainted with relief, running toward the stage. He skidded to a halt as the gargoyle appeared again above the vat of water, organ held in its claws. It dropped the large musical instrument, upside down on the flat, top steps along both side of the receptacle.

Dean didn't hesitate this time, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger a few time, not caring where he hit the creature as long as he hit it; as long as it left his brother alone. The gargoyle roared at him, the sound shaking his insides. He climbed onto the stage and fired again.

The creature jerked to the side, screeching and barking as it shoved off from the stage, one eye glowing, the other a shadowed crevice leaking black liquid. Dean ducked as it skimmed over him, a claw trying to take his head off. He fired again and the creature suddenly twisted mid flight from the neck down, crashing into the middle of the pews.

Dean turned, hearing the splashing behind him. "Sam!"

One hand was pressed flat against the glass, the other, Dean could see, was pushing against the organ that had succeeded in trapping his brother beneath the water. Dean's eyes widened impossibly further; he didn't have any breathing room… his little brother was drowning.

"No," he denied on a whisper, climbing the steps on one side and throwing all his weight into the heavy instrument. It didn't even budge. He shoved, punched and kicked at it, straining every available muscle.

"_Move damnit!_ _Please_," he gasped desperately. He could feel the resounding thumps across the instruments wood from his brother's frantic attempts at finding air. "SAMMY!" he screamed as he pressed his back against it, blood rushing to his head making him dizzy; his brother's attempts were slowing rapidly. "NO!"

Dean rolled off the stairs, onto the stage. He raised his brother's gun and aimed at the top right corner of the glass, trying to ignore the still body floating in the water. The gunshot was sharper than the others had been, glass shattered and a flood of water rushed onto the stage like rapids, throwing him off his feet, gun flying from his hand.

Dean didn't bother retrieving it, his mind focused solely on the still form of his little brother lying in a puddle of water, like a drowned rat. "Sam!"

He scrambled to his feet, shoes squeaking and sliding along the wet wood stage. It felt like he moved through molasses, he couldn't get to his brother fast enough.

"Sammy," he slipped and fell to his knees beside him. Reaching beneath Sam's shoulders, he turned him over, into his lap. "Oh God- please no," he whispered, his voice cracking and eyes burning. Sam's lips were tinged blue and his skin was quickly turning gray, eyes closed, long wet lashes still against cheekbone.

"Sammy!" Dean shook him, grasped his chin in one hand and tilted his head back. A small amount of water leaked from the blue lips and suddenly Sam was choking, gagging up water. "Fuck," he breathed out, overwhelmed with relief.

_Thank you, thank you, thank you! _

Dean turned him on his side, holding his head up as his brother drew in wet, gasping breaths between vomiting more water up. "That's it… keep it coming little brother," he encouraged, his own hands shaking now along with Sam's trembling that kicked in with a renewed vengeance. "Just breathe, Sammy. Nice and easy." Dean patted his chest, leaning his forehead against Sam's shoulder.

A low grunt sounded from across the sanctuary. Dean looked up, the gargoyle was moving, lifting its huge bulk from the scattered pews, stretching muscle, small screeching whines escaping its jaws as it lifted its head. More black, viscous liquid leaked from the creature's neck, staining its leathery grey skin. Dean felt vaguely satisfied seeing the torn skin and muscle along its neck, the one glowing blue eye not looking near as threatening anymore.

It pushed to its feet, throwing a pew cracked in half from it's fall out of the way with a loud, resounding howl that vibrated the water puddled around them.

Dean moved; tightening his grasp around Sam and pulling them both to the side. Sam was little help, more or less dead weight as they slipped across the floor, the gargoyle grunting as it lifted from the ground and flew toward them with deadly intent. Dean pulled backwards with a final, loud grunt, abused muscles making themselves known. They fell with a wet thud into the middle of the protection symbol Dean had drawn earlier.

The gargoyle slammed into an invisible wall, inches from Dean's face, startling him back with a curse, his fingers digging into Sam's shirt. The creature fell onto the stage and then immediately started thrashing in the thin layer of water still covering the wood. It shrieked impossibly high, causing Dean to cringe at the unwelcomed abuse to his ear drums, and then it leaped up, onto the alter where it twisted and thrashed, steam rising from it's skin, bubbling painfully.

_It worked_, _he couldn't believe it_! The protection symbol had actually worked. He couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh hysterically or cry like a baby. He settled for holding his brother tighter against his chest; he didn't care if he was outright hugging him; he'd almost lost his little brother in too many ways the past few days. He pressed his lips into his Sam's wet hair, relishing in the sound of his wet gasps and trembling body. He was alive.

"Can't believe that worked," Sam's voice was exhausted, wet and hoarse; he followed it up with some more hacking coughs.

"How long will it last?" Dean asked, shifting his brother a bit more against him, noticing Sam was making no efforts whatsoever at moving a muscle. He didn't blame him, he wanted to pass out himself and he wasn't even the one that'd been sliced, drugged up, scratched, choked, dropped and nearly drowned. Sam had every right to be exhausted; though, knowing his brother, he figured his body simply refused to follow any commands, other than his mouth… that always seemed to work.

"Till it's broken… or washed away."

Dean's eyes dropped to the thin layer of water surrounding them. "Seriously?"

"Should be okay," Sam broke into deep, lung ripping coughs that left him gasping.

"Shhh, it's okay." Dean whispered into his hair. "Just breathe." Dean watched the water around them; his brother was right, as long as they didn't move around too much, disturbing the water, the oily, clay texture of the crayon they'd used should hold true. His eyes lifted to their other problem sitting a few feet away, atop the alter looking down on them with unfettered rage, though it sat calmly perched. Steam still rose from it's skin and it snarled gutturally, watching, learning, weighing it's options.

"The water burned it," Dean announced, the question clear in his voice.

"Holy water," Sam answered, voice cracking with wetness.

"So holy water stops it but holy ground doesn't?" Dean tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but it would've been nice to know there was yet another weapon they could've used against the monster trying to tear their heads off.

Sam shrugged with exhaustion, a hand falling from his chest to splash in the thin layer of water beneath them. He was so tired; it was a struggle just to keep his eyes from slipping closed and sliding into oblivion. He considered it, every few seconds he considered it, but then he felt his brother at his back, the strong arms encircling him and he struggled through it. Dean shouldn't have to face it alone, even if they were safe for the moment, having evil stare you down wasn't exactly a pleasant experience and his brother shouldn't have to do it alone.

"You still with me?" Dean tried to sound calm, but Sam could hear the anxiousness in his voice.

"Yeah," he breathed out, careful in how he inhaled and exhaled; too much or too little set him off into more coughing fits. He was too tired to expend anymore energy hacking up water. He lifted his eyes to the blurry form looming above them on the alter. Sam squinted, noticing only one glowing eye staring at him instead of two. The monster noticed his inspection and huffed a bark at him. "You hit it?"

"Yeah, can you believe it? Twice."

Sam felt a grin pull at the corner of his mouth, his brother sounded surprised, but proud. "Where else?"

"The neck; left side." Deans blurry hand came into view, pointing to the general area of where he'd hit the creature. It snarled at them, snapping its jaws, wings raised like heckles on a dog's back, as if it knew they were discussing it's injuries.

Sam couldn't see the damage, but he could see dark smudges down the gargoyles chest. It made sense, decapitating it was the way to kill it, and Dean had shot it in the neck, it's vulnerable spot. "Good job," he weakly congratulated, a small smile on his lips.

"That was pure luck little brother. I wasn't exactly aiming."

"Either way… you still hit it's weak spot."

Dean shifted behind him, Sam guessed it was awkwardly so, a little unused to praise from his little brother, judging by the clearing of his throat. "So… what now?"

"Wait for sun up…" Sam's head dipped slightly against his will, eyes feeling weighed down by lead.

Dean noticed, running a hand through Sam's wet hair, smoothing down the long, oddly angled spikes. "Sleep Sam…" he whispered next to his ear. It was too lulling not to obey, and Sam's eyes slipped closed, his chin slowly falling to his chest. Dean re-adjusted, shifting so his brother's head rested against his shoulder, face turned into his neck, warm breath reassuring against his skin. "I'll keep watch," he whispered, eyeing the creature watching them from above.

**TBC…**


	18. Chapter 18

**House of Burden**

**By: Maygin**

**The Blah-blah Section: **I know I'm late, and I know this chapter isn't even half as long as the last. However these last few chapters are taking a lot of time and thought; I've got a lot to wrap up and I don't want to cheapen the story by just throwing down the way it went down. So yeah… that's why I'm taking so long on these. In fact, I wasn't even going to post this tonight – I was going to just make one last long chapter, but I was advised by a very wise friend who said I should just split it into two chapters and post what I've got so far. So you can thank Bayre for being such a nag, she's the reason this chapter is posting tonight. Hope it works for ya :) One more to go!

**Chapter 18**

Dean clenched his aching muscles, trying to move them, if minimally. He didn't want to disturb the water or the symbols beneath him; they were precariously holding form as was without his butt or legs mussing them up. Mostly though, he didn't want to wake his brother who was still blissfully passed out in his arms.

Priorities right?

Not that Dean was so sure a tornado wouldn't wake his brother at this point. If he hadn't enforced it, Sam probably would've passed out from exhaustion all on his own. It was just too much; the stress of the last few days, the emotional ups and downs - though mostly downs, the _not_-suicide, the drugs, the drowning… his brother just didn't have the energy to function.

Dean tilted his head to the side, looking down. At least some of the color had returned to his face and he didn't seem to be struggling to breathe as much, though there was still a wet wheeze whenever he exhaled from a deep breath that Dean didn't care for. He'd found the gashes in his shoulder a few minutes after he'd fallen asleep; the blood had soaked into the sleeve of Dean's shirt. He'd panicked at first of course, nearly ripping Sam's shirt off to find the damage, but the scratches didn't look too bad, just painful and the blood had stopped seeping a few hours ago. Still, he'd stripped off his own undershirt which had taken some creative maneuvering and wedged it between his arm and his brother's shoulder.

Dean sighed; his butt had gone beyond asleep, the muscles starting to burn. A gruff bark of air huffed above him. He acknowledged it with his eyes; the gargoyle still sat perched on the alter, looming. The first hour and a half it had been disconcerting, now it just annoyed Dean. He wasn't sure what it was waiting for, because Dean had no problems waiting for dawn to come and for Guido to turn back into whatever stone garden decoration it came from… if that was even how it worked. Sam had just said _wait for sun up_; Dean was guessing as to the results.

His eyes narrowed. "What are you lookin' at ugly?"

The creatures lips curled back, showing off fangs and raising it's wings again, hissing at him.

"Oh yeah, Mr. Big and Scary," Dean mocked. "Why don't you come sink those teeth into a little protective magic huh? Or better yet, do that thing where you fly into it all fierce and stuff only to get bitch-slapped on your ass again. 'Cuz that was hilarious."

The gargoyle barked at him, growling deeply and standing on it's haunches.

"Seriously? You wanna piss off the killer gargoyle?"

Dean grinned at the tired, hoarse voice; secretly happy to have someone to keep him company again. "What's he gonna do?" he challenged confidently. He took the opportunity to shift his now awake brother up a little, giving his limbs some much needed movement.

"He could bring the building down around us, squash us."

Dean's grin kicked the bucket. "Se- seriously?" Sam's lack of response had him leaning down to check his expression. "He can do that?"

Sam chuckled at him, which lead to some wet coughing. "Probably," he cleared his throat, "but I doubt he can think comprehensively like that."

"He was thinking pretty comprehensively when he dumped your ass in that vat and dropped an organ on your head."

"True."

"Beautiful Sam."

"What are you mad at me for?"

"We're sitting ducks here… lambs to the slaughter."

"I'm not the one taunting it," Sam said indignantly.

Dean wasn't mad at Sam, he wasn't. But he was tired too, the last few days hadn't been exactly easy on him either, and this relying on his younger brother was hard to swallow… it was his job to do the protecting. Only he didn't know_ how_ in this new world yet.

"Why'd it go after you anyways?"

Sam's head lowered. "It's a long story."

"Well we're not goin' anywhere at the moment…" He gestured around them and then dropped the hand at his side, unintentionally splashing the water around them. The gargoyle huffed at him. Dean glared at it a second before flicking his wet hand at it, flinging droplets of holy water at it's hunched form. It jerked back, growling at him like a vicious dog.

"Dean," Sam whined with long-suffering.

"So this long story…?"

Sam sighed, careful of the tightness in his chest. "You know the vicious animal attacks that've been going on over the past few weeks?"

"Guido?" Dean jerked a thumb toward their ever-watchful companion.

"Yeah. Story goes he was an idol way back when, some priest bought it and others like it with his blood, and so became the gargoyle, guardians against evil."

"Only this one went a little nutso and came after you because…"

"I'm guessing he's been dormant for a long time now, probably hundreds of years." Dean waved his hand in the air impatiently. "This couple on Deerfield Lane bought him from overseas a while back," Sam gestured weakly at the looming monster; it was an effort to speak without feeling like his throat was ripping to shreds, didn't mean it didn't still sound like it was. "Their house was broken into several weeks ago; that's when the murders started. I'm guessing that's what woke him up… set him off."

"That still doesn't explain why it's trying to kill you."

Sam did a poor attempt at a shrug. "He's been killing anyone that's stepped foot onto his owner's property; protecting his keep."

Dean turned a mocking expression of empathy toward the creature. "What's the matter big guy? Didn't the garden gnomes play nice?"

"Dean-"

"And let me guess," Dean turned his snarky attention back to his brother. "You, being the young, naive little sapling that you are, stepped foot on their property." Sam huffed. "Or better yet, you probably walked right up to the damned thing, gave it a nice, clear look at your face while you gave it a good once over, am I right?"

"I was investigating it," Sam defended.

"Oh, right on private eye." Dean gave him a solid pat on the chest which only served to send his brother into a coughing fit. "Sorry," he muttered when he settled. "You sound a hell of a lot better," he commented softly.

Sam shifted a little, the part of his clothes above water drying and rough against his skin. "My head's a lot clearer." He opened his eyes. "Still blurry but… at least I can think again."

"You're not shaking as much either."

Sam lifted a hand in front of his face, only slight tremors swept over it. "What time is it?" he asked, dropping his hand back to his lap.

"'Bout two o'clock."

Dean could feel Sam's sigh. "Four hours… that's a long time."

"You got somewhere to be?"

"I'd rather be in bed," Sam offered.

Dean chuckled. "You and me both kiddo."

"Dean," Sam hedged, "I'm only like four years younger than you."

"And?"

"And… nothing," Sam gave up; because if he was honest with himself, he kind of liked having his older brother there to take up some of the slack, to hold him up when he just couldn't do it anymore, to watch his back… someone to depend on. It was a weird feeling, letting his brother step up and take over the protective role, but not entirely unpleasant. And if Dean wanted to treat him like a little kid once in a while, call him _kiddo_ or _Sammy_ or any other number of childish nicknames, well… he wasn't entirely opposed to that either, as long as it meant he had a brother to look up to, or down considering Sam was already topping his older sibling. He could always hold that against him if anything.

Dean's throat cleared behind him.

"I spy somethiiiing…"

Sam snorted. "Seriously?"

Dean shrugged. "What? It's not like we've got anything else to do. Fido's sulking in his little corner so he's no fun, and my butt could really use a distraction."

"Alright," he agreed on a sigh, shifting his right shoulder and flinching at the twinge of pain from the scratches along his back.

"I spy something really fugly that's only got four hours left to live."

Sam couldn't stop himself, he laughed, and then fell into a coughing fit. Dean pushed him forward so he bent over his legs, patting his back until he settled somewhat. Sam drew in wheezing breath, letting Dean move him around like a puppet. He was a little embarrassed at how easily his energy leaked out of him; felt like a dead animal, just flopping about.

"You alright?"

"Don't make me laugh anymore," he said weakly, though he eased it with a grin. He could feel his brother hesitate behind him.

"I'm worried about pneumonia," Dean's voice was soft, reluctant.

"It's okay," Sam assured, trying to ease his wheezing a little more, and definitely trying to avoid the weird gurgling he could feel in his lungs every time he took a deep breath. "Four hours, and then we'll be out of here."

Dean sighed. "About that-"

"Please don't make me go back to the hospital." Sam hadn't meant to cut him off or sound so desperate, but instinct and fear had kind of collided inside his mouth.

"Sam," Dean paused, considering his words. "You're gonna need stitching on at least two of those gashes on your back, and I know you're breathing is worse than you're letting on."

Sam swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "Dean… please, I can't-… I just-… I can't."

Dean drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose. His eyes trailed to the monster a few feet away. "What if we called mom's friend? The nurse lady- Kara or something?"

It was Sam's turn to hesitate. The thought of going home after his impromptu escape… the look in his mother's eyes, his father calling desperately after him as he tried to chase him down… it made him ill to think he would be walking back into that, seeing the hurt he caused, the distrust.

"Sam?" Dean nudged him.

"What if they don't want me anymore?" Sam's voice was small and he hated the sound of it, the way it cracked. He felt like a pathetic child, but the unbidden feelings rolled through him despite.

"What?" Dean asked, completely off guard.

"You didn't see them Dean. I hurt them. I practically threw it all in their face and ran away-"

"Sam," Dean said firmly yet with gentleness behind it. "Listen to me, there is nothing- _nothing,_ you could do that would ever make mom and dad stop loving you."

"They think I'm crazy," Sam couldn't hold back the heated tears that spilled down his cheeks.

"Well you are a little crazy," Dean said lightly, nudging him again. "But I'm right there with you now… okay?" Sam sniffed, wiping weakly at the tears, trying to hold on to what little dignity he had left in front of his older brother. "You're not alone anymore, remember?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"They'd be more hurt if you never came back Sammy."

Sam nodded without looking up. "What do we tell them?" he asked quietly. Dean had a brief flashback of a five-year old Sammy looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes from beneath Dean's arm, asking what they were going to do about the monster in the his closet. It was a good memory, but somehow it felt tainted now; had there really been a monster in his little brother's closet? How many other things had Sam '_seen_' as a child been real?

Dean glanced up at the monster, sitting so still he wondered if it hadn't already turned back to stone. "Why don't you let me take care of mom and dad, okay?"

"I'm sorry Dean." Sam still wouldn't tilt his head up to look at him, favoring his shoes instead.

"For what?" Dean asked, honestly curious and yet dreading another apology from his younger sibling.

"For dragging you into this."

Dean's lip curled, head shaking in frustration with himself. He had a lot to answer for… and it was going to take years to undo all the damage everyone _not_ in Sam's world had done to his brother. He needed to drill it into the stubborn kid's head it wasn't his personal crusade anymore. "Sam, you didn't drag me into this. I chose this."

"Why would anyone choose this?"

"You did," he pointed out.

But Sam shook his head in denial. "I didn't choose to have visions. This life chose me… you don't have to do this Dean. You don't have to live this li-"

"Yes I do," Dean cut him off incredulously. "Sam, I'm your brother. I'm your _older_ brother… if you go to war, I'm gonna be one step ahead of you, clearing the way. And I'm sorry if you don't like that, but that's just the way it is." Dean spoke un-apologetically. "Besides," he grinned, "this has been probably the most exciting night I've ever had." Sam snorted. "Even better than that night with Ashley Miller."

Sam's head shook half-heartedly beneath him. "You're insane."

"Maybe… but I'm not the one that got busted out of a psyche ward tonight."

"True," Sam grinned, letting his head fall back tiredly against his brother's chest.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"That monster in your closet…"

Sam's eyes narrowed, brows coming together in confusion. It took him a minute to realize what Dean was asking; to remember all the way back to his tender age of five. His brow smoothed out. "Was it real?" he asked insightfully.

"Yeah."

A small smile touched the corners of his mouth. "No. But you had just started making friends with the kids down the street and I was needing some attention from my big brother."

"Manipulative little brat," Dean said fondly, a feeling of warmth spreading through him.

"Yeah," Sam didn't deny. "But it was really entertaining watching you dispense it with your plastic lightsaber."

Dean laughed. "I forgot about that."

"I think you really believed that thing was magical. You always brought it with you whenever I had a nightmare or something."

"Dude, it lit up and made sounds," Dean defended his favorite childhood toy. "Besides, it worked; made you laugh."

"I was laughing at you."

Dean shrugged, eyeing the one-eyed gargoyle who returned his glare. "Considering how little you laughed or smiled at all growing up, I'd say that thing was pretty damned magical."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "You understand why now, right?" his voice timidly hopeful.

Dean sighed. "I'm gettin' there Sam. But you gotta give me some time… this is kind of a lot to take in."

Sam nodded in silent agreement, rubbing at his throbbing forehead.

Suddenly the gargoyle was moving, wings unfolding and flaring open to their full expanse, leaning forward, gripping the edge of the alter so hard the wood splintered beneath it's claws, glowing eye flashing brilliantly with anger, jaw gaping, visible fangs doing nothing to lessen the enormous roar that reverberated through the church.

Dean startled, his grip on his brother tightening. The monster had hackled up like a dog suddenly sensing danger, growling at them, on full alert and reminding Dean just how deadly the creature truly was. He didn't have but a moment to wonder at it's actions though as Sam's entire body suddenly tensed up, a choked whimper squeezing out of his closed throat.

Dean's head whipped down; Sam was clenched, jerking, hands fisted at his temples and eyes squeezed shut. Dean's stomach dropped, he'd seen this before.

"Sam?" He gripped his brother's arms tighter, trying to bring him out of it; he didn't know what to do; he hadn't then, and he didn't now. "Damnit, don't do this." He pulled back, trying to shift his brother further up. Sam started gasping, pained grunts and whimpers filling the gaps. His body twisted and arched in Dean's arms, shaking and jerking like before, legs kicking out.

The vision stopped just as suddenly as it had started, but Sam still lay gasping and even more loose-limbed in his arms than before. "Sam?" he asked, giving his brother a small shake for good measure. Sam couldn't answer him though, giving only a small jerk of his head instead, still gasping and trying to control the leftover pounding inside his skull.

Dean shifted again, trying to make his brother as comfortable as possible in the tight confines of the- Dean froze, eyes widening. His stomach sank and warning sirens sounded off inside him; a corner of the protection circle had smeared. Sam's jerking body had unknowingly broken the circle.

Dean nearly gave himself whiplash as he looked up with wide eyes… the alter was empty.

He hardly had but a moment to register the sharp sting of claws along his back before he was being flung aside, hitting the first row of pews with an audible crack that made him want to scream.

The gargoyle didn't even bother seeing what came of the older brother as it flew after the younger one scrambling clumsily across the wet stage.

Sam crawled and slipped and generally flailed against the slick flooring, trying to retreat from the hulking creature following him hungrily, watching his pained attempt at escape. Sam skimmed his hand along the floor, trying to splash as much holy water as he could at the approaching monster, but only a thin layer remained and only droplets made it high enough into the air to sizzle against the tough skin.

Sam had no idea where he was going, his vision was blurred, his body felt like a lead weight with needles puncturing his skin all over, and sharp lances of pain kept slicing through his head. He was acting on instinct alone; his safety net had been torn away from him and all he knew was immediate danger was within arms reach.

Sam's hand landed on a familiar object, the handle fitting perfectly in his palm as his fingers curled around it like a lifeline. He managed to push his feet beneath him, stand on wobbly legs while turning around to face the monster that hunched down a little as it barreled into him. Sam anticipated the jar and tried to push up at the last second, feeling like his body was being hit by a Mac truck. He raised his arm and plunged the knife as deeply into the creatures already damaged neck as possible.

The gargoyle's roar choked on whatever dark liquid sputtered from it's wounds. It flailed and jerked backwards. Sam held tight to the knife, trying to yank it through the tough skin, but the creature batted a monstrous arm at him, knocking him off, landing with a jarring_ thud _near the back of the stage.

Sam felt scrambled and beaten. The already dim room went fuzzy around the edges, and there was a constant high pitched buzzing sounding in his ears mixing with the pained howls of the gargoyle reverberating along the sanctuary walls, and whispers… no, not whispers. Sam shook his head, vague images skimmed across his mind, just enough to distract him.

_A man, whispering – no, yelling… strange words._ He knew he should recognize them, but they were muted, smudged along the syllables just enough to fade and confuse like an old memory. _Driving… running… glass shattering_.

"Sam!"

Sam grimaced as he rolled to his side, pushing to his hands and knees. A sharp lance of pain sliced across his palm, he jerked it back, stared at it, a feeling of molasses spreading through him, like time slowing. Blood pooled along the clean cut a small piece of glass from the destroyed Baptistery had bit into. His eyes dropped to the offending sharp object and many other pieces like it surrounding him, catching the dim moonlight, refracting.

_Driving… running… glass shattering_.

Sam lifted his head, looking for the source of the light. A large, ornamental stained glass window welcomed the bright moonlight high above the Baptistry, a picture of a cross and a dove and a rainbow… a promise.

Sam came back to himself with a startle, another crash sounding to his right. The gargoyle had once again hurled his brother off, into the choir chairs this time. Sam propelled himself into action, trusting the visions. He half-crawled, half-stumbled across the stage, limbs screaming at him for rest, to where he spied his Beretta abandoned in small puddle, moonlight glinting off it's silver frame.

He heard the grating bark of the gargoyle following him, it's thunderous feet vibrating along the hollow stage; Sam could hear the sizzle of the holy water burning into it's skin, a minor annoyance now. The creature was too full of rage to notice.

Sam heaved himself toward the gun, the handle fitting into his hand. He turned, fell with his back to the floor and raised the weapon, aiming high with a quick, silent prayer that there were still bullets left in the chamber. The first bullet hit dead on; glass exploding, shattering in a rainbow of colors against he moonlight, shards falling to the world outside the Sanctuary.

Without another thought, Sam turned his aim toward the monster towering over him. He didn't look, he just fired, scrambling backward across the stage. The gargoyle hunched down, swiping at him with claws and gnashing it fangs, black blood spitting out of it's mouth as it gargled out painful barks and growls. It swung a large arm across, into the alter, knocking it over. Sam kicked backwards, falling off the stage and narrowly avoiding being pancaked by the heavy wooden pulpit.

The drop was only about five feet but still jarred him down to his bones, air bursting from his chest and lungs refusing to work. He forced his eyes open in time to see a large claw reach down, felt the tips of the sharp appendages cutting into the skin along his ankle, and suddenly he was being lifted, hanging upside-down.

Sam was done; he didn't have the energy to fight any more. All the blood seemed to flood into his head and his limbs felt like heavy pieces of lead, pulling and straining along his muscles as the gargoyle raised him higher until he was face to blurry face with the creature. Sam barely made out the stumbling blob of his brother out of the corner of his eye, trying to reach him, to save him. He barely heard his name screamed amidst the hot breath of air that ghosted across his face from the gargoyle's mouth. The one blue pinpoint of light that was the guardian's remaining eye flared and focused in the black pit of it's eye socket. It's other arm pulled back, claws extended and curved for maximum damage, and Sam let his eyes slip closed as the arm swiped down at him.

"Subsisto! EGO sum a servo Senior Deus Omnipotens!"

The voice was loud, clear, and commanding; cutting through the sanctuary like a bell across dead waters. Sam felt his body jerk back in mid-air, his eyes opened. A blurry figure was running toward them down the isle, pointing at them. Sam squinted, vaguely recognizing the man from his vision.

Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet him with a resounding thud, the gargoyle releasing it's hold. Hands grasped at him, pulled at him until he was ensconced against a warm body, a familiar body. He didn't have to look to know it was his brother who held him, who ran frantic hands over his head and face, who hugged him tightly against his chest as he pulled them both across the floor, away from the towering gargoyle.

"EGO sum a servo Senior Deus Omnipotens," the man repeated as he neared, climbed the stairs onto the stage, a long, black object gripped tightly in one hand.

Sam and Dean both watched, enraptured as the tall man moved with purpose and with authority. They were even more in awe as the gargoyle suddenly hunched down, one knee and fisted claws to the floor, looking ready to pounce. But the beast lowered it's head in submission and the tall man spared the boys hardly a glance as he stood over the creature. The stranger slid a long, polished sword from it's sheath and dropped the black leather casing to the floor.

"EGO ostendo sum vos immunda os quod nomen Elohim , vestri sator"

A single, mewled grunt escaped the gargoyles throat, and it washed over Sam like tears, repentance. The man drew the sword across his own palm, blood bright against the steel, and then cut the weapon through the air in a clean arc, bringing it down. The gargoyle's body remained still, hunched and entirely of stone once more. The head fell from the stage to the marble floor below, the skin hardening to stone and the single glowing eye fading into the darkness behind it before the changing skin swallowed up the shadowed crevasse.

**TBC…**


	19. Chapter 19

**House of Burden**

**By: Maygin**

**The Blah-blah Section: **HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!! I'm posting the LAST CHAPTER and the Epilogue both tonight! Sorry it took me so long, but as I've been telling some of you impatient naggers (you know I love you) I really wanted to get the ending done right… and I'm slow. Which some of you know firsthand. Anywho – IT IS FINISHED!!! Don't forget this story came into being all thanks to ObuletShadowStalker who posted the prompt waaaaaaaaay back in- what… June? July? Omg… I'm horrible. So anywho, if you loved this story, you may consider sending her a note of thanks for coming up with the idea and being so darn cute. Thank you SOOO stinkin much guys for all your patience through this and for loving it and all the awesome things you've said in your reviews!! Sorry this is sounding like an acceptance speech but I just CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY OVER! Weeeeeeeeeeeee!! Hope it's everything you guys were waiting for! Have a wonderful new year guys! Here's wishing you all love and truth in this next year. _MWA_ :

**Chapter 19**

Between he and his brother's gasping breaths and the throbbing pain pulsing through his body, it took Dean a minute to realize his mouth was hanging open, eyes wide. This tall, lanky man who looked like his gentleness far exceeded his ability to play executioner had killed the beast in less than a minute of his appearance.

_Dead… it was really dead. _

He couldn't believe it. All night they'd spent running from it, fighting it… trying to survive and now it was gone with a few words and a swipe of steel.

"Are you boys alright?" The man kneeled before them and he didn't mean to, but Dean found himself instinctively tightening his hold on his brother, jerking them both back. The man's hands raised in supplication, lowering the sword to the floor and pulling a white hankie from a back pocket before wrapping it around his bleeding hand.

"You're Sam, yes?"

Dean worked his mouth, trying to find the air to speak. "D- Dean," he stuttered, eyes still wide. Was this Bobby? Because he wasn't at all what he'd expected the older man to look like.

"Dean?" the man repeated, a little surprised. Then the light, brown eyes trailed down to the precious cargo in Dean's arms. "Is this Sam?"

Dean swallowed, his brain kicking back in. "Who are you?"

"Jim Murphy… Bobby called me, asked if I could help." Dean's frown of confusion and shock remained. "Bobby Singer?" the older man tried.

"How'd you find us?" Dean squeezed his brother tighter against his chest, afraid to let go. Sam hadn't said a word since Dean had pulled him away from the gargoyle. He looked down, noticing his brother's eyes were closed, but he was definitely breathing… passed out then.

Jim chuckled lightly, a small, knowing grin on his face. "Honestly? I've been driving around different churches looking for you. Almost passed this one up until that window exploded," he gestured with his chin toward the shattered stain glass window high above them. "Fell into the road right in front of me."

Dean half-listened as he gave his brother a little shake, trying to arouse him. Jim unbuttoned his black jacket, tugging it off and holding it out. Dean looked at it dumbly for a moment.

"The body needs to stay warm to keep from going into shock," the older man spoke quietly, kindly.

Dean accepted the coat with a nod, doing his best to wrap it around his younger brother who remained blissfully unaware. When he lifted his head again, he was surprised to see the white collar around the stranger's throat.

"You're a priest?"

"Fortunately for you, I am."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked before remembering not only was he in a church, but in front of a priest as well.

Jim snorted, obviously amused by the younger man's lack of respect. "Leviticus twenty-seven; eleven through twelve."

Dean's brow twisted in confusion a moment before turning his attention back to more important things. "Sammy?" he gave him another small shake.

"How bad is he?"

"I don't know. That thing's been throwin' us around like nothin'."

"Is he bleeding?"

"I don't think so. Nothing big anyways." Dean ran his hand over his brother's head, checking for blood or bumps.

"What about you?"

Dean paused at that, looking at the older man. "What?" Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was a simple question.

"Are you alright?" Jim reworded, speaking calmly.

Dean did a mental pat down; everything attached – check… everything attached throbbing like it's about to become detached - check. "Yeah… I'm okay," he swiped at a line of blood dribbling down his chin.

"Are you sure?" Jim asked with a slightly doubtful gleam in his eye.

"Well, I'm not exactly gonna be pickin' daisies anytime soon, but yeah… I'll survive." Dean growled. He really was beyond tired and hurting. It had been a hell of a night. Yes, it had been exciting and thrilling and more than Dean had ever expected… but the part where he almost lost his little brother a couple times kind of royally sucked.

"We should go then. Someone else is bound to see the glass all over the road soon."

"What about…" Dean nodded toward the statue but started as he realized the edges of the stone were slowly eroding away, falling to the floor as nothing more than dust.

Jim smiled. "I think he'll be fine. As for the rest of the uh…" Jim scanned the rest of the sanctuary for the first time, seeing the destruction, "… the rest of this mess; I'll let Bobby and Joshua know. They can clean this up."

"Clean it up?" Dean asked with disbelief.

Jim's lips quirked, head tilted. "Wipe it of any fingerprints anyways. Try to clean up some of the blood."

"We were all over," Dean said a little overwhelmed as he realized just how extensive the damage to the place of worship was; how many places he and his brother probably fingered, left evidence of themselves on.

"Let's just worry about you two for right now, okay?" Jim picked up his sheathed sword, sliding it through a belt loop before holding his hands out in an open gesture. "Will you let me help you?"

Dean wanted to say no, wanted to lift his little brother in his arms and walk out of there never looking back. But he knew he was going to have enough troubles trying to get himself off the floor, much less his completely limp brother. He reluctantly nodded his consent.

Together they lifted the youngest member and slowly made their way out of the Sanctuary and out into the real world. Dean jerked to a stop when he raised his head, seeing his car in the moonlight.

"Son-of-a-" A huge dent lay twisted in the hood of his car; like a giant fist had been pounded into it. His stomach turned when he thought about all the vital organs beneath the hood that were probably damaged.

"I'd say you came out pretty good, considering." Jim gave him a hard stare, and Dean read the meaning behind the words. He glanced down at his brother, slumped in arms.

Dean looked up and nodded, pulling open the passenger door.

"Maybe we should take my car," the older man suggested.

"No." Dean stated, brooking no room for argument. He helped gently pull his brother into the front seat from the driver's side. "She'll work," he said a bit softer.

Jim gave a nod toward the ignition when the two were settled in the car. Dean pushed the key in, saying a small prayer before turning it over. A loud grinding noise filled the air quickly followed by a chinking of metal and then the engine running smoothly. Dean visibly sighed, shoulders dropping in relief.

Jim tapped the hood, closing the passenger door. "Where are you headed," he asked, looking in through the window.

"Uh," Dean didn't know. He was alive, Sam was alive, his car was… living, for the moment. He didn't really know what to think much further than that. He ran a hand over his face, feeling unkempt stubble grate over his fingers. He was tired. He was really freakin' tired. His first instinct screamed of _home_, safety, to his parents. But that was a confrontation he wasn't quite ready to face just yet. He needed to rest, that much was certain. "My place," he finally said, looking across the passenger seat. "It's not too far from here."

Jim nodded, giving the door frame another pat. "I'll follow you."

Dean nodded, watched the man make his way to his own car across the lot in the shadows. He looked down, running a hand up and down his brother's arm, comforting himself more than anything. He couldn't believe they were alive. He couldn't believe he'd ever doubted his brother before. He was just… he sighed; putting the car into drive… he just needed to sleep for a few weeks.

* * *

Dean stared. Breathing was about all he could manage at the moment, staring at the kitchen table beneath his lax fingers. He had a lot to think about, but he just couldn't find the resources to do it. Tired didn't begin to explain it.

A door clicked softly closed down the short hall. He raised his eyes, waiting. Jim walked quietly into the small kitchen, rubbing his hands along his pockets, drawing in a deep breath.

"He'll be okay… he's sleeping for now."

"Thank you," Dean whispered, lips hardly moving.

Jim nodded. "You're welcome." He took a seat at the table opposite the younger man. They sat that way for a few minutes, the older man watching the younger. "You should get some sleep."

"I will."

Jim's hands folded on the tabletop. "This is all new for you, isn't it?"

Dean's eyes lifted again. He gave a small nod. "Is is that obvious?" He tried smiling but it died miserably. "Sammy always knew… he tried to tell us, but…" Dean swallowed, eyes dropping to the table, vaguely wondering if this was what confession was like.

Jim absolved him. "There's a reason why people don't see the supernatural. It's well hidden, covered in darkness and shadows. And who honestly wants to believe that true evil actually walks among them… touches their children at night in their beds?" Jim shifted forward in his chair. "We're a spoiled culture here in America… the freedoms we have… we've become so accustomed to safety and comforts that we've blinded ourselves to the evils that walk the earth."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

Jim sighed, leaning back in the chair. "I don't know the history between you and your brother, but I do know if you continue to let it eat at you, it's going to get you or him killed. There's no room for self doubt as a hunter."

"A hunter?"

A small grin pulled at the corner of the older man's mouth. "That's what we call them."

Dean's brow lifted. "You're not one?"

Jim opened his hands wide atop the table. "I'm just a servant of the Lord."

"Who carries a sword everywhere he goes?" Dean asked skeptically.

Jim chuckled. "Sword of the Spirit."

Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair, holding back groans from muscles stiffening up. "So what happens now?"

"Rest… you and your brother give yourselves time to heal."

Dean weighed the other man's opinion, not deaf to the hidden meaning behind the Priest's words, the heaviness of it. "And what about…" he gestured to the window, to the night and shadows beyond.

"They'll still be there when you're ready." Jim smirked kindly. "Evil's been around for centuries. And besides," Jim pushed up from the table, pulling a set of keys from his pocket, "there are others out there; other hunters fighting the good fight."

"I like fighting my own fights."

"Just yours?" Jim asked knowingly, eyebrow cocked.

Dean stared back, unashamed.

Jim looked away a moment, hesitant. "Things are going to get worse Dean. Something is out there, something very dark and evil and it's…" he shook his head. "It's planning… conspiring."

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Jim said softly, honestly, looking him in the eye. "But it's growing. And you and your brother, if you have any hope of helping, of surviving it… you'll need your rest. You'll need to be at your best, well trained and trusting of each other."

"How do you know about this thing that's coming?"

"I don't really… but I've seen signs."

"Visions?" Dean blurted before he could stop himself.

Jim's brow furrowed, questioning. "No. But I've got a good source."

"Who?"

Jim smirked, tilting his head up. Dean rolled his eyes with a groan.

"Whatever." He pushed up, unable to stop the wince, from the table. "So, you leaving?"

Jim nodded. "I'm going to meet up with Bobby and Joshua, help them clean up your mess," he grinned, gripping the door knob at the entrance. "But if you need me, I'm only a few hours away. I put my number on the nightstand in your room." He opened the door.

"Wait." Dean drew near him, a guilty look on his face. "I broke Sam out of a hospital… that thing came after us there first."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"I don't think so, but… I don't know."

Jim nodded, thinking. "Well I doubt there's anything we can do about that."

"What about the nurses and the police? There were camera's all over that ward, they had to get that thing on video… people will know."

Jim didn't quite smirk, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes. "These things tend to work themselves out." He gave Dean a pat on the shoulder, eyeing him one last time before closing the door softly behind him.

Dean waited a moment, hearing the muffled sound of the downstairs complex door closing. He reached out and turned the bolt on his own door, locking them inside. He checked every window, making sure they were tightly closed and locked, closing the curtains and shutting every door. Finally, he made his way into his bedroom, leaning against the door frame, staring at the sleeping figure beneath the covers; half wishing he had his trusty lightsaber in hand.

He smirked.

Moving across the room, he swallowed down grunts of pain; carefully stretching out on the empty side of his bed, letting himself rest, mind and body.

"See you in the mornin' Sammy," he mumbled as he drifted off.

* * *

Sunlight was bright, but only thin rays caught the dust in the air as it swept through the slatted shades over the bedroom window. Dean sat quietly still in a kitchen chair he'd dragged into his bedroom, flipping through the pages of a leather-bound book self-consciously. He stopped at a certain point and scrolled down the page.

_Leviticus 27: 11-12; "If what he vowed is a ceremonially unclean animal – one that is acceptable as an offering to the Lord – the animal must be presented to the priest, who will judge it's quality as good or bad."_

Dean leaned back in the chair, deep in thought.

"What are you lookin' at?" a hoarse whisper carried from his bed.

Dean looked over seeing a groggy-eyed little brother watching him curiously. "Just something Jim said."

"Who?" Sam's brows furrowed.

Dean turned toward him in the chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "Tall, sword-wielding dude… vanquished the killer gargoyle?

Sam watched him a few more moments, eyes squinted and brow creased in thought, searching his memory. "He had black on," he half-stated, half-questioned, as if only mostly sure he wasn't mixing up his vision with what had really happened or what he'd wished would happen.

"Yup… turns out he's a priest."

"Really?" Sam seemed surprised.

Dean nodded, slowly and painfully pushing to his feet, mindful of his ribs and, well, every other piece of flesh and bone in his body. He made his way over to the bed, sitting down near the end with a grimace. "Yeah," he grunted. "Something to do with Leviticus and judgment," he waved his hand in a careless gesture.

"What?" Sam knew he was tired and beaten, but even fully healthy and sharp it was hard to follow his brother's line of thinking sometimes.

"I don't know; something about being a priest and being able to call judgment on the gargoyle… like a God-given right or something."

Sam took the words, the meanings and tumbled them around his fuzzy brain, stringing what he knew together. "Makes sense," he said softly, trying to keep the hoarse squeak from his voice. "The gargoyle recognizes holy authority… at least that was still ingrained in him." Sam's eyes went distant, seeing through the wall and into his thoughts. "He just lost sight of his master."

"That's beautiful Sammy."

Sam did his best to glare at his brother, but he was pretty sure it was as dull as he felt. "Shut up," he added for good measure.

Dean smiled, and then winced as the skin pulled along his split lip.

"You don't look so good."

"Speak for yourself dude. Compared to you, I look like freakin' Fabio." He painfully reached over to the nightstand and held out the glass of water. "Thirsty?"

Sam seemed to think about that a moment. He felt as dry as a desert but for some reason that just didn't coincide with his near drowning. He liked things to coincide and make sense, patterns and logic. Fortunately, Dean took over. Dean who didn't care about patterns and logic, as long as he could touch it and see it, or read about it in a car magazine, it made sense.

Dean carefully shifted further up the bed, sitting on the edge. He helped lift his brother's head and shoulders a little, tilting the glass in minor increments so as to not drown the kid again. Sam drank greedily, another fact Sam wasn't sure of; he'd thought for sure he'd had enough water for a while.

"Thanks," he mouthed, still not trusting his voice to be anything more than hoarse and barely there.

Dean nodded, setting the glass back on the nightstand but staying where he was. "Hey Sam?" he asked casually, looking down at his hands. "What made you shoot out the window?"

Sam blinked dull eyes, mentally shrugging before remembering Dean couldn't see that. "I saw it."

"In your vision?" Dean hedged, looking back at his brother.

Sam nodded wearily. "I saw the man, um…"

"Jim," Dean filled in.

"I saw him… driving, and then the glass falling in front of his car." Sam drew in a breath. "And then him running to help us, and the sword."

Dean let that run through his head. "So… you didn't actually _see_ yourself shooting the window?"

"No," Sam replied softly.

Dean shifted to look at him a little better, ignoring the sharp pricks along his muscles. "Soooo, you just… saw the gun lying there and took matters into your own hands," he stated more than questioned.

Sam paused, briefly wondering if there was a problem with his actions, something that would get him in trouble, something Dean wasn't approving of. "I guess."

A slow smile lighted Dean's face, something like pride shining in his eyes. "Pretty quick thinkin' Sammy."

Sam's eyes lowered immediately. It wasn't that he wasn't used to praise, well, maybe from his brother he wasn't… but it was more like he just didn't feel quite deserving of it. He knew it was stupid, but years of habitually thinking he was a freak wasn't something you got over in a few hours. And just shoot him now it that was a blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks.

"You did good kiddo."

Sam would've raised a hand to scratch along the back of his neck if - one, he knew it wouldn't hurt so much; two, he had the energy to do so; and three, if it wasn't so obviously a self conscious action. So he went with his other instinct, diversion. "So this Father…"

"I don't know, uh- Mippy, Mo- _Murphy_. Jim Murphy… I think."

"Where is he?"

"Went back to meet up with Bobby and that other guy."

"Bobby's here?" Sam sounded hopeful. And didn't that just twist Dean's guts up. Nothing like a little jealousy to put one in a good mood. He added on another dollop of guilt just for good measure; wishing his brother had every reason to be as hopeful with his own family.

"Well, not _here_, but yeah. Apparently they're cleaning up our mess."

"How bad was it?"

Dean snorted and shook his head. "They won't be holding any services for a while."

"Yes they will." Sam sounded so certain despite the crack in his voice. "They'll find a way."

Dean looked back, seeing a tiny flicker of something he couldn't exactly identify within his brother's eyes. And if it maybe scared him a little that his kid brother was still able to retain some measure of faith in a higher power after everything he'd been through, he wasn't letting on. He always knew there was something different about Sam; now he was beginning to think it was something special, something to be treasured and protected at all costs. He wasn't about to entrust that job to anyone else.

"I called mom and dad." He watched Sam closely; his brother's eyes flickering to him, a hint of uncertainty and maybe fear sweeping through them before he realized he was being observed and schooling his features.

"What'd they say?"

Dean sighed tiredly. "Not much. I didn't really tell them anything yet. They're coming to pick us up." He definitely saw the fear creep into the lines of skin around his brother's eyes. Sam dropped his gaze, trying to swallow past the dry, suddenly painful lump in his throat. "They're taking us home Sam," Dean said softly.

Sam looked up again, gathering all the courage and confidence he could from his brother's unwavering gaze. Home… whatever was left of it, what he hadn't completely destroyed yet. He consoled himself with the fact that they weren't taking him back to the hospital. And Dean… Dean looked so certain that it was all going to be okay. Sam could draw on that and felt the ache deep within lighten a little; because Dean _knew_, he'd seen… and he was going to take care of things.

Sam nodded, eyes drifting across the room to the silent news being played out on the television. He gestured a lazy hand toward it. "Anything?"

Dean reached for the remote, turning the volume up. "They mentioned it a while back, but haven't reported anything on it yet."

Dean had gone to the kitchen to get him and his brother something to eat when he heard Sam's cracked voice call for him. When he entered his bedroom with a questioning look on his face, his brother directed his attention to the television.

"_-authorities are unclear as to the unusual predator that wreaked havoc on Assisi General's psychiatric ward last night. Video of the event has not yet been released but we're being told the animal bares a similar resemblance to that of a giant ape. Now witnesses are claiming the animal seemed to be chasing after one of the ward's residents and as you can see high above me, one of the patient room windows has been smashed. We don't know for certain but we've been told from reliable sources this was most likely the entry point of the animal. As for its mysterious appearance in the hospital, has yet to be explained. _

_Now we just received word a few minutes ago that police are now connecting this disgruntled animal with the recent brutal murders in Lawrence and Columbus, Ohio before that. We're not certain as to the evidence found by police to support the claim; however previous suspects, Brett and Kelli Stanton, have been cleared of all charges. Brett Stanton was released today to return to his home and family…"_

A small smile lit Sam's face as he watched the news report. The screen switched to a hallmark picture of Brett climbing out of a police car and Kelli running across their front yard where they embraced with tears running down their faces. The couple went inside soon after closing the door on the news casters with Kelli saying something about their story going to Jeremy first.

Sam's smile grew at that, secretly pleased at the woman's loyalty and obvious gratitude toward the mysterious reporter in training. He'd have to get rid of that ID though now; Jeremy Miller was about to become a story in and of itself. He'd just have to make sure he never ran into Kelli again and hope she didn't have a good photographic memory if police wanted a sketch done.

"All in a day's work, eh?" Dean commented with a grin.

Sam snorted. "I can't wait to see how they explain an ape getting into a seventh story psyche ward."

"You think they'll release that it was your room it broke into?"

Sam shrugged his good shoulder, uncertainty painting his face. "I'm kinda hoping that falls into patient confidentiality."

"Good point. Which by the way, how's the head?"

"Still there, surprisingly enough." At Dean's look he continued on. "If you're referring to the drugs, I think I'm okay. I'm just really tired and yet really jittery."

Dean nodded, noticing his brother's twitchiness. "Well," he sighed, looking around the room, "there's some clothes in the closet, wear whatever fits. Mom and Dad'll be here in a few minutes."

"Kay," Sam's voice was small and he found his hands very interesting.

Dean nodded and left the room, closing the door, but not completely, behind him to give the younger man some privacy.

* * *

The car ride home had been painfully silent; so many questions that needed to be answered, so much fear that needed to be fostered… so much hurt that needed to be nursed. But Dean had made them promise over the phone to hold their questions and needs to themselves until they were home and Sam was safely tucked away in his room.

That didn't mean Mary couldn't latch herself to her youngest child like a leech in a hurricane, running hands over his head with tears rolling down her face and commenting on each and every bruise and scratch she found. Dean imagined it had probably killed his mother to not ask the million and one questions she had running through her head. John too had pulled his youngest to him and held him for a minute, burying his face in Sam's hair, silent and yet saying so much. It gave Mary the time she needed to look over and baby her oldest child as well.

But the car ride was silent. Even the music had been turned off leaving each individual to their own thoughts and feelings. Dean glanced at his parents from the back seat. His father sat slouched in his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his eyes going between the road and the back seat passengers in his rearview mirror. Mary was turned in her seat, back pressed against the door with one arm draped over the back of the seat, hand grasped tightly in Sam's. And Sam... Sam sat rigid, opposite of Dean, avoiding everyone's eyes, worrying his bottom lip and studying his shoes like they were made of something alien.

Dean almost felt led to applaud his brother for not lifting the door handle and escaping the most awkward silence he'd ever had the displeasure of being apart of. Even more so than the time a thirteen year old Sam had walked in on him and Shannon Bilford. Dean smirked; it really hadn't been as awkward for him as it had his brother. Sam had avoided him for three whole weeks which was fine because at the time, they'd sort of been avoiding each other anyways. With that thought, Dean contented himself by imagining all the things he was going to say in a letter he'd be writing to Sam's old child psychiatrist as soon as things settled down.

* * *

The door closed quietly behind the family and Dean allowed Mary one last kiss on her youngest's cheek; John, one last pat on the back, before pulling Sam away, up the stairs and into the kid's bedroom where he tucked him safely into bed. He double-checked the locks on the window, drew the blinds and curtains closed and then discreetly, though not by much, checked the closet and beneath the bed.

Sam didn't seem to notice much at all though as he pretty much fell asleep as soon as his body sank into the mattress. It would be a few days before his brother's system normalized and he had all his energy back, not to mention the all the sore muscles and scrapes that would need time to heal. He did a quick check on all the bandages Jim had loaned him and helped him apply.

Finally, Dean left the room, closing the door completely in case the ensuing conversation he was about to have got out of hand. He'd promised Sam he'd take care of it; he didn't want his brother waking up only to hear an argument over his sanity. He trudged down the stairs; his parents waiting at the bottom with expectant stares.

"Alright," John's voice was loud and firm, obvious tension needing release. "I wanna know what the hell happened to you two and I wanna know now."

Dean held his hands up as he reached the floor, trying to soften the blow in every way possible. "I don't suppose you could just trust me that there's nothing wrong with Sam?"

"Nothing wrong?" Mary asked with exasperation. "Have you two looked in a mirror lately? You're covered in bruises and scratches and blood and what the hell were you thinking breaking your brother out of the hospital?"

Dean backed up a step from the onslaught. "Something was after Sam," he defended.

"What?" John snorted.

Dean figured his parents expected these type of answers from their youngest, not their oldest. He hesitated, searching his small vocabulary for the perfect words. He really didn't know what to say, he'd hoped something would miraculously come to him in the car, but here he was, without a clue.

"Look… we're both okay-"

"No," Mary cut him off, refusing.

Dean looked at them pleadingly. "I'm asking you to let me take care of this."

"Dean, no." Mary stated adamantly. "You are my chil-"

"Mom, I'm twenty-"

But Dean was cut off when his mother reached forward suddenly, hands on his cheeks and looking at him intently with glistening eyes. "_You are_ _my children_," she repeated firmly if not slightly desperate. "It is not your job to protect your parents. We protect you. Understand?"

"I know," Dean answered quietly; and he really did know. His parents loved him and Sam more than life itself. In the end, he remembered all the years of Sammy not talking, having his secrets and keeping his family at a safe distance… all to protect them and nurse his own internal wounds. He didn't want to re-live another second of that, not when he felt like he could finally breathe for the first time in years; even if he'd be on the opposite side of the window this time, he didn't want that. He just wanted his family to be a family again.

Dean sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. "You'd better sit down," he said softly, leading them into the living room.

Both parents stood watching him warily a moment more before taking a seat on the couch. Pulling the coffee table back, Dean sat on it with heavy heart, trying not to let on just how sore and bruised he was. He let his head hang low, staring at his hands, bruised and scraped, tiny strips of blood dotting his knuckles. He counted his fingers, briefly wondering if he'd ever been grateful he had all his fingers still attached; wondering if any of the scratches along his skin would scar.

"Before I tell you anything…" Dean started without raising his head. "I need you to know that I love you guys more than anything and I would never do anything to hurt you… neither would Sam."

"Dean, what is going on?" Mary's voice brimmed with fear.

Dean clasped his hands together. "We messed up big time with Sammy." When several seconds of silence followed, he glanced up. John and Mary had clear expressions of guilt and discomfort in their posture.

"I don't exactly think that's a secret, Dean," John admitted, slightly impatient.

Mary's hand skimmed across Dean's before wrapping fingers around his. Dean looked into her wide, truth-seeking eyes.

"Do you know what's wrong with your brother," she asked.

Dean gave a small, sad shake of his head. "Nothing's wrong with him," he said softly.

Mary and John stilled, both attentive and on edge. "What do you mean?"

Dean drew in a deep breath, leaned forward, pulling a leather-bound journal from the back of his jeans, holding it like a precious treasure in his hands before hesitantly offering it up. John accepted the well-worn book, not opening it, but obviously waiting for some kind of an explanation.

"That's Sam's journal… one of them anyways," he corrected.

John and Mary's eyes latched onto the scarred binding and cover, unknown stains splotched across the soft leather here and there. John's thumb ran along one particularly deep gash that he could flip the top layer up like a flap of skin.

"I can promise you," Dean started, hesitant in his delivery, "every word in that… is true."

Mary's eyes lifted to Dean as John let the book fall open in his hands, eyes skimming the scribbles, sketches in-between notes and descriptions. Dean met his mother's wide gaze.

"All those things Sam tried to tell us as a kid, it's all true."

"Dean-"

"No, don't." Dean cut his father off, dropping his eyes and pressing his lips together. "I…" he swallowed, "I know how it sounds, alright?" Dean drew in a slow breath, finally raising his head, leveling his parents with his most sincere look. "But I've seen it… not all of it," he admitted as John's head briefly lowered to the journal again. "But enough to know that we really have no idea about the world around us."

Churning acid worked its way up his throat and Dean worked hard to swallow it down. "And that Sam's not crazy… or _sick_." All the guilt he'd stored away pressed against the back of his throat and behind his eyes, looking for release. "We're the crazy ones Mom… Dad," Dean let his gaze pass over both of them. "There are things out there… nightmares… that are walking down our streets… hidden by our own desperate need for security."

Dean watched with heavy heart the doubt pouring from his parent's eyes. It made him sad; sad that his brother had lived with those looks from everyone his entire life. And it hurt more than he wanted to admit. "Last night Sam and I were chased by a creature… something you're not going to find on any zoological list or whatnot. And in a few weeks the whole thing will be old news because it doesn't fit people's little box of comfort," he said with disdain.

"Dean, what are you talking about," John spoke up finally.

Dean sighed, wondering if Sam felt as frustrated as he did when trying to explain his dreams and visions to everyone growing up. "Read it," he gestured to the journal. "Just… try to keep an open mind… okay? I'm not sick or brainwashed or anything. Monsters are real… some nightmares are true… and Sam's known all along."

"And this thing is your proof?" John asked doubtfully, holding the book up.

"I didn't believe it at first either."

"Then how do you expect us to?"

"I don't…" Dean raised his eyes, pleading, begging. "All I'm asking is that you treat Sammy like you believe him." Dean paused, feeling strength and protectiveness fill his veins. "I don't care if you believe me or not, but don't put this on Sam's shoulders. He's lived with this long enough."

"Dean," Mary's voice was small, strained. "Sammy tried to kill himself-"

"No," Dean shook his head, firm in his stance. "That wasn't him; that was the monster that followed us last night."

"A monster," Mary asked carefully; John cursing with disbelief next to her.

"I know how it sounds, okay?" Dean exasperated, throwing his hands up. "But it's real… all of it," he gestured to the journal. "Everything, even down to the man with the yellow eyes he kept dreaming about."

"The what?" Mary asked with a newfound curiosity.

"The guy with the yellow eyes he was always telling us about?" But both Mary and John shook their heads. Dean's chin puckered as he sat back. "I thought he told you about that one."

"Sammy tended to talk to you more than he did us," John stated.

"But he told you about a man with yellow eyes?" Mary asked, shifting forward on the couch.

Dean gave a small shrug. "He always used to talk about it when we were kids."

"Is he still having dreams about him?"

Dean paused, eyes flickering to his mother who waited patiently but intently. "He mentioned him, yeah. Why?"

Now two sets of eyes fixed on Mary. Dean watched carefully as his mother sat up straight, taking in a deep breath and gracefully sweeping back a lock of hair.

"Mary?" John asked, equally as curious as Dean now.

But Mary shook her head. "It's nothing, I'm just… this is a lot to take in."

Dean's brow furrowed a moment, but he let it slide. "So… you believe me?" He watched his mother draw in a deep breath and then turn to look at his father. Dean turned too. "Dad?"

John sighed, running a hand over his face and head. "I don't know kiddo. You're kinda asking me to…" he snorted and then became quiet. Dean understood perfectly well the feeling having experienced it himself less than twenty-four hours ago. John held the book up. "I mean this goes against everything-… everything I've ever known."

"I know," Dean agreed quietly. He watched a bit reluctantly as his father's eyes suddenly became red and moist.

"You're telling me the past, what, ten, fifteen years we've been calling Sammy a liar… made him less of what-… who he is?" John's voice trembled slightly and Mary's hand found his. "All the doctors, the treatments, the drugs?"

"He doesn't blame you alright? He's not holding any grudges."

"Why didn't he say anything?" The moment the frustrated question was out of John's mouth, Dean could see the realization and defeat hit. It hit both his parents. He didn't bother replying; they all knew. The room filled with silence, only the monotonous ticking of the old clock hanging on the wall keeping them company.

"So what now?"

"Now?" Dean wearily sat up straight, ready to stand. "Now, I'm going to bed." He pushed to his feet and turned toward the stairwell. "You should too," he added quietly.

"And tomorrow?" John asked.

Dean paused to look at them a moment. "Tomorrow's up to you."

With that, Dean turned and left his parents behind, climbing the stairs, silently checking on his brother before heading toward his old room and letting his body get the much needed rest it craved. Before he melted into his bed though, he dug through the back of his closet. He sat back on his heels as he pulled an old bowie knife his Uncle had given him years ago from its sheath. He ran his thumb along the edge, nodded with satisfaction, and then crawled into bed, the knife finding a snug spot beneath his pillow.

* * *

Dean waited patiently on hold, letting the seconds ticking by fuel his anger. Finally the line clicked and a male voice greeted him.

"This is Doctor Reidisser"

"Thank God," Dean sneered. "I'd hate to think I waited this long for the wrong doctor."

"Mr. Winchester," the man said patiently. "I apologize for the wait; we've had quite a bit of chaos here since you prematurely checked your brother out."

Dean could hear the clear frustration in the older man's voice. A hospital representative had called his parents earlier this morning, to discuss the events of the previous night. Mary had gotten as far as them telling her for media's sake that Sam Winchester was _prematurely checked out by his brother_ before John had taken the phone from her hand, told them to _go to hell _and hung up.

"So what's the verdict?" Dean asked curiously, trying to keep his own frustration in check.

"Authorities are claiming it was some kind of rabid wolf."

Dean snorted, wondering how the human race had survived as long as it had with such poor excuses as that. "And what are _you _claiming?"

"I am in agreement with the hospital," the man said uniformly.

"Whatever. About my brother-"

"I've been trying to reach your parents all day to discuss that very thing."

"Well they're busy. Talk to me."

"I think it best if I speak with your parents; legal issues and all."

"Screw legalities. I want a formal release on my brother; no records whatsoever."

"I can't do that."

"Then you better connect me with someone who can."

"Mr. Winchester…" Dean could practically see the other man gritting his teeth. "Your brother is sick… I'm writing a formal notice to the boards that I strongly oppose his sudden withdrawal from our care."

"You do that and I promise you, it'll be the last thing you do there," Dean said, dangerously calm. His brother had enough problems without having yet another 'mentally unstable' checkmark next to his name for all to see. Dean was determined to clear his brother's name; clean up his records. It wasn't much, but it was the first step he could think of in helping Sam feel a little more sane… erase the years of being known as the emotionally disturbed child.

"Are you threatening me?"

"A wild animal somehow manages to sneak into a 7th floor, secured psyche ward and I'm supposed to believe my brother will be safe there, _why_?" Dean glared at the refrigerator with all his built up anger, hoping it somehow bled through the phone. It hadn't been the doctor's fault the gargoyle had gotten in there, he couldn't account for something supernatural; but the heavy medication he'd dosed his brother up with was unnecessary and more to prove a point than anything. Dean had a few points to prove of his own, first and foremost being that if the man even thought about filing something against his brother, he'd regret it with his life.

* * *

Dr. Reidisser leaned back in his chair; he knew danger when he saw it. The heavy medication was a common practice to help break through difficult patients; he underestimated Sam Winchester's family however. Normally patients like him were dropped off and left in his hands to fix… not Sam. He was obviously coveted, protected by this one, his brother. Sam didn't need him, he had his own guardian to look after him and help him get better… it was plain as day as he listened to the fierce voice of the young man on the other end of the phone.

He swallowed down his pride and allowed his conscience to guide him. "I'll sign a formal release and hand all documentation over to you," he reasoned quietly.

* * *

"See that you do." Dean slammed the phone down in its cradle and left the kitchen, heading upstairs. He knocked quietly on the second door down the hallway, pushing it open a little to see in. "Hey," he greeted, closing the door behind him.

"Hey." Sam sat slumped against the headboard and wall, pillows piled up behind him. He was fully dressed except for socks and shoes, a book held loosely in his hands. Dean noticed his brother watching him intently; looking for clues probably… something.

"You eat breakfast? Or lunch, whatever the hell time it is?" Dean sat on the edge of the bed facing his brother, one leg curled beneath him.

Sam nodded, his eyes dropping to the book in his hands. "Mom brought it up."

"And?"

Sam shrugged, picking at the corner of the paperback. "She seemed okay… asked a few questions."

"About what?"

Sam shrugged again. "Everything."

Dean chuckled. "What about Dad?"

"He came up before he left for work."

"What did he have to say?"

"Not much honestly." Sam's eyes met his shyly, a small smirk on his face. "I don't know what you told them, but… I think they actually believe us." Sam sounded a bit in awe at his brother's accomplishment. "Or at least they're trying to."

Dean smirked, nudging his brother's leg. "Told you I'd take care of it."

Sam lowered his head even further, hiding a smile beneath too long bangs. He spoke up again a moment later. "Bobby called."

Dean stilled. "What'd he say?"

"He said they took care of it."

"Obviously."

"And that he'd be back in week or two."

"Why?" Dean felt a sudden spark of worry settle in his gut. Had they missed something? Was another monster around that needed to be taken care of? Was something else after his brother?

"He said he wanted to meet you."

Dean paused, blinking. "Oh."

Sam smiled knowingly at him. "You are such worry wart."

"Shut up." He pinched his brother above the knee, getting a jerk and a chuckle out of his brother. "Mom tell you Kara's stopping by later?"

"Yeah." Sam scratched at the bandages around his wrists.

"That's good," Dean slapped at his brother's hand. "She can check on the stitches and make sure you don't need any on your shoulder."

"It's fine, Dean."

"Yeah, well until you graduate from college with a medical degree, you'll have to excuse me if I don't trust your judgment on that." Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's look of long-suffering. He patted his brother's leg and sat quietly for a moment, content. "You okay?"

Sam looked at him, seemed to draw inside himself a minute before a small grin slowly took hold and he nodded. "Yeah." Sam's grin widened. "Yeah, I think I'm good."

Dean felt his own smile lift. He could see the sincerity in his brother's hazel eyes. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such an open, honest smile from his little brother. It stirred something inside Dean, and he realized he wanted to see that smile more often. "That's good little brother."

**TBC…**


	20. Epilogue

**House of Burden**

**By: Maygin**

**The Blah-blah Section: **And here's the epilogue… cuz they're fun.

EPILOGUE

…**A few days later.**

It was a bad day.

Dr. Reidisser had told her to always say what kind of day it was and then what made it that way. She wasn't quite sure what made it bad, but it was. She just felt generally unhappy.

She sat alone in her room on the floor in the corner. Charles had tried to come in a few times, tried to steal her juice, but she screamed and cried and Nurse Emily made him leave. She still felt like crying though. Her room was so big and white and empty; and no one outside the room interested her. She was lonely.

"Natalie?" Nurse Brenda stuck her head through the doorway, looking for her. "Hey sweetie," she said softly with a smile as she neared. Natalie stared at the floor as the woman crouched down next to her, pushing some hair back from her puffy, teary eyes. "What's wrong?"

Natalie tucked her face into her arms. She was extremely lonely, but she didn't want Nurse Brenda, or Nurse Emily or anyone else here for that matter.

Nurse Brenda's hand ran over her head. "You got something in the mail today."

That grabbed Natalie's attention. She never got mail, not ever.

She lifted her head, sitting up straight, searching for the envelope with her special letter. Nurse Brenda smiled and pulled a box from behind her back, holding it out for her.

Natalie's eyes went huge with wonderment. "For me?" It was more than a letter, it was an entire box with something sent just to her. Her name was on the front.

Nurse Brenda smiled openly at her. "Just for your. Open it," she encouraged.

Natalie slowly took the box into her hands like it was a newborn baby. She carefully popped the lid, pulling tissue paper out of the way.

She gasped, eyes widening even further. Suddenly her hands dove into the box, yanking out a stuffed lion which she immediately squeezed against her chest with all her might and love.

"Look at that!" Nurse Brenda said with a chuckle.

"Who sent it? Who sent it?" Natalie bounced on her rear on the hard, marble floor excitedly.

"Let's see," Nurse Brenda lifted the box, searching the front. "Well, there's no return address; it just says _'Thank you. Love, Sam'_ on the inside lid."

Natalie gasped with childish joy again. "I did good! He told me to do it and I did!"

"Did what?" Nurse Brenda asked curiously.

"He's my bestest friend." She hugged the lion tightly to her chest, rubbing her cheek over its soft mane.

Nurse Brenda smiled warmly. "Okay, well does it have a name?"

"Sammy!" Natalie announced loudly, petting the lion's mane with her hand. She didn't notice an hour later when she still sat by herself in the corner. She was no longer alone. She had her Sammy and she loved him very much.

* * *

Dean leaned over the huge dent in the metal, fingering the blasphemous damage with disdain. He reached behind him and picked up a padded mallet. He'd had to completely remove the hood to get to the guts inside. Fortunately, only a few pieces needed replacing. Now he had only cosmetics to worry about. Personally, he was counting his lucky stars the thing hadn't used its claws on his baby or he'd be ordering a new hood instead of beating the crap out of the old one.

Dean ignored the familiar jingling of the bell above the side entrance door.

A minute later, Kevin walked by with his usual, indifferent gait; stopping at the bench along the wall. Dean watched him turn a bored eye toward his baby and then to Dean.

"What happened to your car," he asked dully.

"Gargoyle," Dean responded with equal lack-luster.

"Huh." With that, Kevin turned back to the tools.

Dean watched him disappear behind the office door before he smiled and snorted at his odd co-worker. Maybe one day he'd spill the whole story… or maybe not.

* * *

Mary pressed her back into the shelves behind her. The pantry was really just a walk-in closet. She'd made John put in shelving units for her when they'd bought the place. The phone pressed painfully against her ear as she listened intently, waiting for the tell-tale sign of someone picking up.

There was a click and then a muffled voice.

"It's me," Mary announced, keeping her voice low. "I've been trying to get a hold of you. The guardian's dead. …Yes, I'm sure," Mary gritted her teeth. "You said that about the last one you sent. And the one before that."

Mary switched the phone to her other ear, listening. "Because it almost killed my son! Something was wrong; it was killing people left and right," she whispered fiercly. "I don't know who killed it. …No, I don't think it was him," Mary sighed wearily. Her eyes lifted a bit at the voice over the line. "What do you mean he twisted it?"

Mary heard a voice enter the kitchen and pressed into the corner of the small room, turning to shield the phone from view should the door open. "Why would he do that?" She swiped a finger across the top of a can of green beans, grimacing at the amount of dust. Squeezing her eyes shut, frustrated, she listened carefully to the explanation.

"Are you telling me he somehow made the thing go crazy so these so called_ hunters_ or whatever you called them would do the dirty work for him? Why-" Mary froze at her own question; the situation suddenly becoming crystal clear. Her stomach knotted and burned. She felt nauseous as bile worked its way up her throat. The very thing she'd been trying to prevent was happening and it scared her to death. She swallowed hard and drew in a shaky breath, trying to keep the fearful tears as bay.

"He's coming isn't he? Azazel's coming."

* * *

Sam unwound the gauze wrapping from his left wrist, inspecting the wounds beneath with a curious eye. His mother's nurse friend, Kara, had said the stitches could come out in a week or so with a promise to check back on him. The skin surrounding the wounds had been red and puffy when she'd first looked at them; all the wear and tear he'd inflicted on them the previous night. Now they just looked like… well, he knew what they looked like. It was why, despite being confined to his room still, by order of his parents, he wore long-sleeved shirts.

Standing in front of his mirror, he let his eyes slowly rake over his reflection. He was a sore sight. He knew of each and every black and blue bruise hidden beneath his shirt; each little scratch along his skin. He didn't have to see those to know they were there, to know they were hidden beneath his brother's clothes too.

He stared for a few moments at his own face. Something was different. The usual dark circles were there along with the drawn face and scraggly hair crowding around his face, the pale features; that was all the same. He lifted a hand and pushed a curtain of dark bangs back, threading his fingers through it so it entwined and stayed back. He stood and studied his reflection, face no longer hidden. Tilting his head slightly, he realized with a small grin what the difference was.

The pinched look was gone… he wasn't alone anymore.

His grin grew, liking his own reflection for the first time ever. "Welcome home," he whispered.

"Sam, dinner's ready," a deep voice called up the stairs.

Sam chuckled, unable to hold it back. He felt lighter than he'd felt in forever. He was happy.

"Saaa-aaaam," Dean's voice whined loudly this time.

Sam laughed. He gave a final nod to his reflection and then turned away, heading downstairs. In the kitchen sat his father and Dean at the table; John reading the newspaper and Dean poking at the paper with his fork. Mary came out of the pantry with a can of green beans in her hand and the phone. She smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek in greeting.

He picked up the bowl of salad on the counter and helped his mother place the food on the table while Dean spoke of his latest antics at work and John joked with him. Sam sat at the table watching his family interact, smiling and laughing. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the moment for himself before joining in the conversation.

* * *

The family picture was worthy of a hallmark card; the mother and father serving the food and looking lovingly on their children as they joked back and forth with each other, speaking of mundane things simply to be speaking and enjoying the sound of one another.

The overabundance of light and love swelling from the house permeated his pores, sickening him. He watched with disgust and yet anticipation. It was moments like these that gave him the greatest opportunity to deal the greatest damage. These were the moments he lived for.

But he would wait.

He had plans to fulfill and pure lust of devastation would need to wait. So for now he watched in shadow, beneath the tree in their back yard, lip curled back into a twisted grin.

Yes… he would wait. Wait and watch his marked treasure grow and learn. The time was coming. The thought of what he and his chosen one would accomplish brought him great pleasure, eyes lighting, glowing yellow in the shadow of the waning sun.

The time was coming.

**THE END**

YAY!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!


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